


I'd Know You With a Heartbeat

by potashiamu



Series: Mangata [2]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aphelios has PTSD and C-PTSD, Blood and Injury, Diana and Leona are off-screen lesbians, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Healing, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, I tried to be lore-compliant but we are kinda off the rails here, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Selectively Mute Aphelios, Sett is still emotionally mature, Somewhat graphic descriptions of Aphelios killing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trauma, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings, aphelios is a power bottom, fuck doll sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potashiamu/pseuds/potashiamu
Summary: A year into their relationship, Sett and Aphelios are confronted with what will be the Lunari's final mission. But will it be because their bond isn't strong enough to withstand fate, or will it be the realization of Alune's prophecy? (Sequel to "You In Me", not meant to be standalone).
Relationships: Aphelios/Sett (League of Legends)
Series: Mangata [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126577
Comments: 45
Kudos: 103





	1. New Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for following this story that started with You In Me, which I was sure was a completed one-shot I was 100% done with (lol). Fast forward to me being like, maybe I should write a sequel, but it'll be short and sweet. Spoilers, it's not short at all, this is gonna be a big boi, and for some reason I decided that I was also going to take some lore threads to (what I feel is) their logical conclusion, so buckle up because this has basically become a saga. While I really tried to make sure it felt authentic to the League universe and did hours of research to fill in the substantial gaps, if you prefer things to be strictly canon-compliant, this will not be that.  
> For applicable warnings, there is A LOT of angst, but I promise you it will all have an emphatically happy ending and everyone survives. That being said, the first chapter is pure angst, so it's gonna be a rough ride, but I also promise that it'll pick up from there. There is a scene depicting Aphelios in assassin mode but it's fairly quick and while I tagged graphic violence to be safe, I don't think it's that bad. There is also some cultural homophobia described briefly.  
> As per You In Me, any future sex will be explicitly described but 100% consensual and might give you diabetes it's so disgustingly sweet. Sett still swears a lot, and now Aphelios swears a little too, lol.  
> Lastly, the series title, Mangata, comes from the Swedish word that means "the road-like reflection of the moon on water", v aesthetic. And "I'd know you with a heartbeat" is a lyric from one of the rare songs with vocals I can listen to while writing, the very appropriately named "Island of Doom" by Agnes Obel. I'm not sure what it is about this song, but something in it speaks to me of a deep love that lasts even in darkness (perhaps especially in darkness) and persists until death, which is my settphel in a nutshell. Thank you to my special discord friend who has seemingly endless interest in discussing this pairing with me, and gave me some great ideas for how to resolve the lore later on.  
> Enjoy!

* * *

**NEW MOON**

* * *

Sett is inconsolably angry.

“You are kidding me, Phel.”

And, Sett is terrified.

Aphelios had known this would happen, had been dreading it intensely, and so right up until the moment Sett had asked where he was headed off to next, the Lunari was undecided on whether he would volunteer the information. But it is especially cruel that the question should be asked with such a carefree lack of anticipatory concern, and right after exceptionally passionate lovemaking they are both still glowing from.

Sett disentangles Aphelios from where the smaller man was laying in his huge arms, cuddled into his chest. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

Rising to sit amidst the swathes of crimson silk and wishing they weren’t naked and in bed for what will likely be their first serious argument, Aphelios just looks down at his boyfriend, unable to decide how to answer against the anxiety mounting in his chest.

“The fuckin’ _Shadow Isles?_ ” Sett’s eyes are alight and now, so are his fists, crackling with his magic as he heaves himself upright. “No way. Absolutely _no fuckin’ way_.”

 _I don’t have a choice_ , Aphelios signs because his voice will come too slow for how immediately Sett is demanding answers.

Not that he likes the answer he is getting.

“No. Nah, you’re just windin’ me up. ‘Cause there’s no fuckin’ way that even those pieces of shit you’re doin’ this for would want ya to go on a suicide trip.”

He’s been off the noctum for three days in anticipation of visiting Sett, and all seventy-two hours have been increasingly nerve-wracking—turning into heartbreaking—for Aphelios. It was another of the rare times that he wished for the numb removal of the noctum, because reconnecting with his intensifying emotions had been purgatory. Ever since Alune’s vision had confirmed the two separate accounts he’d come across—a dock worker and an oarsman who’d both sworn they’d seen a woman matching Diana’s exact description, hiring passage from Ionia to the Shadow Isles—Aphelios had planned to see Sett before he embarked on this mission, the most dangerous yet. But beyond that, he had no idea how to cope with what lay in store.

Every child in Runeterra, from those living amongst the frosted rockscapes of Mount Targon, to the primal beings born of the verdant jungles of Ixtal; all were raised on boogie man stories of the undead monsters who had corrupted the Blessed Isles. The Shadow Isles and the Black Mist that sometimes seeped from them were an indiscriminate risk to all; all feared them.

And now, Sett is easily the most upset Aphelios has ever seen him, and the mix of his lover’s enraged panic with his own terror that has been percolating without the poison dampening it is making it hard to think straight.

“You’re really serious Phel? You are really fuckin’ serious.”

_I have to go. It’s the most promising lead—_

Sett interrupts by grabbing the Lunari’s hands mid-sentence.

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear it,” he snarls. “There isn’t a fuckin’ single reason on this earth good enough for you to be goin’ to that place. And you’re not gonna.”

Seething, Sett abruptly gets out of the bed and yanks on some pajama bottoms, nearly ripping them he uses so much force. Aphelios is abandoned in the blankets, forlorn and feeling the swells of indignation and despair in equal turns. He watches with his hands limp in his lap as the Vastayan paces the room with furious strides.

“You have really tested me in the past Phel, but I told ya then that I knew you had it handled, all this Lunari self-sacrifice bullshit. They fuckin’ _tortured_ you and man, I thought I was gonna burst a fuckin’ blood vessel in my brain from how angry that shit made me.”

Sett stops pacing abruptly, turning to face Aphelios head on, shoulders squared and chest flaring like a bellows.

“But this, this is the fuckin’ line. You’re not goin’, ‘cause ain’t nobody’s ever come back from that place. If even a fuckin’ goon like me knows that—" in his anger, he interrupts himself, "—you know, I just don’t fuckin’ get it. How much more, Phel? They just gonna replace you when you get fuckin’ killed the instant you set foot in that place? What’s the plan after that, huh? Is there one? And I wanna know, when the fuck do you start havin’ value?”

Aphelios is speechless, there is no good answer. Sett is just getting started.

“And Alune? _She’s_ okay with this? I know you ain’t been on the noctum, but she knows right? And she’s lettin’ you go?”

Aphelios nods weakly.

Yes, once he’d collected the intel, Aphelios had sought to confirm with Alune, who had initially reacted much like Sett is reacting now. She’d refused to consult the Moon’s power, telling her brother that she wouldn’t even entertain such a foolish notion. For how would Diana herself survive in such a cursed place? Better to turn their attention elsewhere.

Their fight had lasted the span of two days, becoming increasingly fraught as more of Aphelios’ personal feelings broke through the ice of the poison. Not that he had any desire to go to such an incredibly dangerous place, but it was the best lead he’d had in years, and the thought niggled at him that if Diana, for some reason, _were_ there and he never tied that loose end, he’d be stuck in this awful limbo of chasing a ghost, guided by little better than a ghost, for the rest of his life, and that seemed worse than making an attempt at the Shadow Isles.

Finally, they had reached an agreement—Alune _would_ check, but Aphelios could feel her confidence through their tether that the Moon would firmly guide her twin elsewhere, what amounted to a premature _I told you so_. After all, she had never once been given hint that Diana’s orbit threaded through that awful place, so why should they take the words of two random strangers so seriously?

The moment his sister had reconnected with him psychically after beseeching the Moon, he knew. You couldn’t lie through a conduit like theirs, and Aphelios immediately detected Alune’s intention to deceive him, to direct him away from the Shadow Isles even though she had now seen Diana there for herself.

Initially, Aphelios had been upset, muffled though his emotions were. After everything they’d been through, after everything _he’d_ been through, had to give up, had to turn away from… Alune was going to try and decide for him that _this_ was too much?

Before she even had the chance to lie, it was obvious from his anger and dismay that Aphelios sensed what the Moon had shown her, and so they hardly bothered arguing over her aborted betrayal. Instead, and fairly quickly, it had become about Aphelios consoling his hysterical twin.

And now, Aphelios is attempting, and failing, to console his lover.

 _Alune confirmed the Moon is guiding me there,_ Aphelios’ gestures are evocative of long hair, the sign they’d agreed on for Alune’s name. Now, Sett is fluent in sign language, and together they had come up with signs for the three of them. Sett was a finger held up on either side of the head in emulation of his ears, and Aphelios’ was a swoop with the index finger over the right eye, indicative of his tattoo.

“Even she’s in on this? Bull-fuckin’-shit,” Sett spits, livid. But he knows better than to say more about his boyfriend’s twin.

 _She says she doesn’t see my orbit ending there,_ the Lunari offers as cold comfort, feeling small and impotent on the huge bed.

“That ain’t fuckin’ good enough for me. I don’t know how the fuck it’s good enough for you either, actin’ like you don’t have something you wanna be alive for. Maybe you just need someone whose head isn’t so far up their own ass on this moon shit that they’ll actually tell it to you straight. I can be that guy, no problem. You ain’t goin’, and that’s it.” Sett resumes pacing, casting fire-filled glances over his shoulder so he doesn’t miss Aphelios’ signing.

 _I don’t have a choice_.

Incensed, the Vastayan rushes over and seizes Aphelios by his shoulders. “Of _course_ you have a fuckin’ choice! You always have, but I got why ya hadn’t been able to make it, until now. But this, this is fuckin’ unreal! You’re gonna _die_ there. If you can’t make the choice for yourself not to throw your life away, then I guess I’ll be the bad guy and make it for ya.”

 _Please, don’t be like this,_ Aphelios pleads, even though it’s more accusatory than what he actually intends. It’s more that he is worried that Sett insisting so vehemently will drive Aphelios to make the choice he dreads far more than going to the Shadow Isles. For it is true, he does have a choice, just not the one Sett thinks he’ll make.

The plea clearly ends up rubbing Sett the wrong way, because he launches himself back up off the bed, yelling.

“Don’t be like what?! Don’t be devastated that the fuckin’ love of my life is telling me he’s goin’ on a one-way trip? Is that what you want? You want me to be all understandin’ and wave you off to fulfill your fuckin’ duty even though it means you’re gonna get fuckin’ killed and your soul or some shit’s gonna get trapped there forever?” Sett rakes his hands through his hair. “That’s what you’re asking me to be cool about? When I don’t even understand what the fuckin’ point is? How can you find Diana if you’re fuckin’ _dead?_ I don’t get how you can sit there and act like you hardly care one way or the other. As if I’m fuckin’ overreacting!”

Coming back again to lean over the bed and bracing himself with one hand on the frame, Aphelios can hear the wood splintering in Sett’s grip.

“Were you even gonna tell me? What if I hadn’t asked? We been together all day, and you ain’t even let out a peep that the next place you were headed off to was fuckin’ Hell itself. Were you just gonna let me put the fuckin’ pieces together myself when I didn’t hear from you? For months? For years?”

Aphelios freezes, then shrinks, chagrined. It wasn’t that he had intended to deceive Sett, just that the idea of making this some kind of potentially final goodbye was so unbearable that the Lunari couldn’t be confident his resolve would survive it. His resolve is certainly being tested to its limit, now.

_I didn’t want to hide it, but I wasn’t strong enough to tell you._

Sett takes in the signs and then mashes his eyes with a giant hand; not as if he might be about to cry, but more with the body language that he literally cannot endure seeing Aphelios sign more, and needs to shut it out.

“Sett, I’m sorry,” Aphelios says in a murmur quieter than he would have liked. The only signal he gets that the other has heard is that Sett releases a heavy, frustrated sigh.

“I’m goin’ for a walk,” the beast-man announces. “And when I get back you’re gonna tell me which of my houses you like best ‘cause that’s where you’re livin’ from now on.”

* * *

When Sett returns from his walk, hardly calmer and now wet from the summer rainstorm drenching the world, he is confronted by Aphelios, fully dressed and waiting on his landing by the front door. The Vastayan’s ears immediately flatten as he understands the intention of the other.

Aphelios could have left.

The beast-man’s pulse is set racing with cold fear. Sett has a hundred things he wants to howl and scream, but his panic paralyzes him into inaction. He can’t remember the last time he was this scared. Felt this out of control.

“Please don’t make me choose,” Aphelios speaks softly, his burdened voice intermingling with the tap of water droplets coming off Sett’s soaking clothes. “I don’t love anyone or anything in this realm more than I love you, but I will never be able to choose you over my destiny.”

The full realization hits Sett, and it’s so awful that he’s weak in the knees, half-stumbling as he steps forward, reaching for the Lunari with an outstretched arm that sags to its owner’s side as soon as it’s lifted. When Sett’s voice comes, it is thick with emotion, but also prickling with the venom of anger.

“…Thank you. Thank you for not just leavin’ while I was out.” Sett’s tone is devoid of gratitude. He resents that he should have to be grateful for the dilemma he’s being presented with at all. That Aphelios thought of ghosting out into the night and abandoning Sett with those as their last words, and only by the supposed grace of the younger man that is not the situation Sett is coming home to.

“I would never,” Aphelios promises, even though this may be the last time such a commitment is relevant. It’s also becoming apparent that he’s already overusing his voice, because he fails to stifle several harsh coughs that rise from his tortured throat.

Both men spend a moment in silent stand-off, not knowing what to do next. Aphelios makes the first move, leaning down to shoulder his travel bag, but he is stopped immediately by Sett’s hand on his arm.

“No,” the little word slips weakly from the Vastayan’s lips, and it’s only a single shaky breath later and the huge man is crumpling onto his lover.

“Don’t leave yet Phel,” Sett’s voice cracks as he speaks into Aphelios’ ear, the smaller man engulfed in his embrace as the beast-man clings to him like he’s in danger of evaporating in front of his eyes. “I get it. I get it, okay? I get that you’ll leave me before you leave them. Just… don’t. Don’t leave yet.”

The pain in Aphelios’ chest at Sett having to say it out loud is so sharp and vicious it feels like the very pulp of his heart is being torn up. He reaches up to caress Sett’s soaking hair and when the Vastayan feels the contact, he sinks even heavier against his lover, defeated. He lets Aphelios help him to the bathroom where he sheds his sodden shirt and pants and gets in the bath to warm up, the other remaining clothed and so things feel no less strained.

“You really gotta leave in the middle of the night? Right now?” Sett asks, his tone still challenging but not nearly as fierce as in their earlier argument. He sees Aphelios hesitate, guesses at his obvious thoughts.

“I won’t stop ya in the mornin’,” he clarifies. “’Cause you won’t let me. So, just stay the night.”

Then, much softer: “please, bunny.”

It’s the last two words that are sufficient to melt Aphelios’ willpower and finally he animates, undressing and joining Sett in the giant tub, intending on giving the Vastayan some space but already Sett is reaching out for him, beckoning him to sit in his lap and be held. But even when Aphelios joins him, Sett’s ears do not lift from where they are wilted against his head.

Five silent minutes pass, as both men taste-test things to say, questions to ask, getting tangled in their private thoughts; the majority of which feel hopeless.

Aphelios is preoccupied above all by a feeling of self-loathing, that he has wanted to eat his cake and have it too. He wasn’t strong enough to turn away from his feelings for Sett, didn’t break it off when he should have. He should have never gone back to the Vastayan after that time they had been tethered, over a year ago, now. He should have had the courage to let things end there, when Sett thought they were over anyway. Because now he is demanding that Sett accept this newest impossible challenge, one that Aphelios would never be able to come to terms with, were the situations reversed.

Of course, both men were always in a degree of danger. Sett had more enemies than he had friends, and even though he was undisputed in the arena, people didn’t always play by the rules outside of the pit. People were always taking their chances, trying to fuck with Sett or with his property when they thought they could get away with it. And Aphelios lived at risk always; whether it would be an assassination mission gone wrong, misadventure while he was trying to find Diana, or just the simple fact that the noctum was killing him slowly. The Lunari was never ‘safe.’

But because, for the most part, this was their routine, it _felt_ safe. They knew how to cope, how to manage. The Shadow Isles were new, and presented a fresh risk level that was so high it felt near to inevitability. Aphelios knew he was being hypocritical. He would never let Sett walk to his almost certain death, no matter what it meant, even if his measures made the Vastayan hate him.

He can’t stand himself, what he is putting Sett through. How selfish he’s being.

“I’m sorry,” Aphelios says, though the apology is nearly lost to coughing.

“Shhh, don’t wreck your voice sweetheart.” Sett pulls him in tighter.

Aphelios wants to obey but after another quiet moment he strains his voice again, needing to ask a question he knows is more unconscionable selfishness, but he has to hear it from Sett anyway.

“…Do you still love me?” The words are almost lost as his body is wracked with coughing, Sett waiting and rubbing his back with a deep moue of worry on his face. When the coughing finally stops, the Vastayan gives his reply.

“Fuckin’ obviously, Phel.” A deep sigh of resignation. “I’d be pissed off that you feel like you even gotta ask, but I know you’d only be askin’ if you felt like you did somethin’ that made ya unlovable.”

Sett kisses his lover’s temple, gathering his thoughts.

“I don’t think you’re capable of doin’ anything that would make me stop. I’ll always love ya, bunny. But you know I don’t give that shit freely. And one of my conditions is that you rely on me and respect me. I don’t wanna be shut out like you were gonna, because it woulda been real cruel to leave me pickin’ up the pieces if something went wrong. And I’d get to deal with knowin’ you not only didn’t ask me for help, but you didn’t even give the courtesy of tellin’ me. It really burns me that I had to fuckin’ _ask_.”

Aphelios knows Sett is completely right, so right that it feels like just a mere nod isn’t enough agreement, but it’s all he has right now.

“I know enough about ya to not take it personally, but don’t ever do that to me again. You ain’t protectin’ me from shit if I gotta deal with the consequences anyway. So, never again, startin’ now. If you’re tellin’ me there’s no way I can keep you here, short of makin’ you my prisoner or some shit, then, ask for my help.”

Sett brings a gentle hand to Aphelios’ face, to tip his head so they can look at each other.

“Let me help ya with this one. They may be the fuckin’ Shadow Isles but if there were ever two people who could figure out how to beat those undead bastards, it’s you ‘n me, mooncake.”

Even though he knows it won’t be that simple, Aphelios can’t keep the smile off his face.

“That’s better,” Sett coos. Neither man can bear to expend too focused a thought on considering that Sett is trying to cheer up Aphelios because, in the obvious addition to hating seeing him so morose, this might be the last night they ever spend together. The reality lurks heavily just behind them, the proverbial elephant in the room, but the Vastayan is a man of action, and he really did mean what he said. It makes no sense to him to spend the night in maudlin blubbering when there’s a chance that, by preparing, this journey the Lunari will make will just become one of many future adventures; a wild story to recount over a drink someday.

“So,” Sett begins as Aphelios gets out of his lap and guides Sett to turn around, the Lunari cupping water in his tattooed hands, spilling it over Sett’s massive back before he begins massaging his shoulders, one of the routines they’ve formed together. “You ever heard of anyone goin’ there and comin’ back? A year or so back, there was a big ruckus I got second-hand from a buddy in Noxus. Some dead lady apparently wasn’t so dead, everyone was goin’ nuts about how she survived the Mist.”

Sett groans, leaning into his boyfriend’s expert touch, his ears slowly, unconsciously lifting. 

“Mmm, that feels real good, Phel.” Then, resuming his earlier train of thought, “I don’t buy it though. Shit like that always gets exaggerated. And ‘sides, one lady back from the Mist ain’t good enough, ‘cause I don’t want you gettin’ caught by that shit in the first place.”

Both men are worldly, but in much different ways. While Sett will hear whispers from all across Runeterra, knows _exactly_ how to handle all kinds of people with all kinds of motivations, it’s Aphelios who is becoming somewhat of an expert in the myriad cultures that share the world with them. In fact, there was already a group that came to mind when he was trying to figure out when and how to tell Sett about the Shadow Isles, but he still can’t piece together how they could ever be of help.

He taps Sett on the shoulder; the other will have to turn around and massage time will be over if Aphelios is going to be able to sign. When the Vastayan’s golden eyes are on him, Aphelios explains, tentative and unsure.

 _Remember the people who worship krakens?_ he asks, and Sett nods. Aphelios has to spell out the place name, but he gets the point across: _I visited the isle of Buhru once, and the priesthood there was preparing for a ritual they do every couple months._

When Sett follows all of the sign language, even the most complex signals, Aphelios feels a swell of pride and love. Despite what many assume, the beast-man is clever and a quick study, but the Lunari will never not be grateful that someone loves him enough to learn an entire language just for him.

_There are beacons that surround the Shadow Isles, and the priesthood fills them with holy water from the pool of Nagakabouros. It helps contain the Black Mist. Supposedly._

Looking thoughtful for a moment and then elated, Sett’s ears are fully perked as he speaks excitedly. “You’re kiddin’ me, bunny! There’s a whole group of people who purposefully go to that shithole, _and_ they have some kinda protection magic?”

Aphelios stares at Sett as the large man reclines against the wall of the tub, even bringing his arms behind his head to put a fine point on how little concern he has, now. “Damn! Ha! What the fuck was I even worried about?”

 _They never allow outsiders to participate in the ritual,_ the Lunari elaborates blandly. _They are very insular, I had to ask a pirate from Bilgewater what was going on, the priests and priestesses would never have told me themselves._

“You’re too cute,” Sett replies somewhat condescendingly, still making a great show of how un-stressed he is now. “You’re forgettin’ how _loud_ money talks. Even kraken freaks are gonna have a price they’ll agree to. Well, provided we don’t tell ‘em we snacked on their god, once.”

Aphelios is about to object, but by now Sett knows him so well, it’s like he can read the words before the Lunari even has to sign them. He sits up abruptly, water sloshing, and looks at Aphelios intently with slitted pupils.

“If you’re gonna say some shit about where the money will come from, or that it’ll be too expensive—well, you’re not. I don’t wanna hear it, not even from you, sweetheart.”

White and purple hands freeze mid-air, where their owner had brought them up to express that exact line of thought. Sett captures them in one of his own tanned, scarred, gigantic hands, and uses them to pull Aphelios a little bit closer.

“I dunno what I’m gonna have to do to get it through your head that you are precious.” The beast-man stares down into his lover’s upturned face, locked on violet eyes that still look so plaintive and wistful. “Do you _really_ think that I’d spare any cost if it meant help keepin’ you safe?”

Apparently, Aphelios doesn’t realize that the question is not a rhetorical one, for when he does not answer, a guttural grumble emanates from deep within Sett’s chest, the only cue that the older man is exasperated.

“Would _you_ ever not do everything you could to help me, just ‘cause it would save you a buck?”

Such an idea is completely unfathomable to Aphelios, and the open, adorable horror on his face shows it. Sett is satisfied with this reaction and relaxes a little.

“See? Now just reverse the situation. It’s that simple.” Sett watches as Aphelios reacts, he is getting so good at reading his lover’s expressions, subdued though they often are, that especially when Aphelios is off the noctum it’s like he’s an open book in the palm of Sett’s hand. And the Vastayan can tell that something is still not computing, that whatever completely insignificant amount the Buhru priests’ holy water will cost them, Aphelios will still not be sure that Sett _is_ sure. “Silly. Not sure how you can be so smart ‘n logical about everything but this… C’mon, let’s get out,” Sett rises decisively. “I’m warmed up now.”

Aphelios follows him out of the tub and they both dry off in silence. One day, Sett will figure out how to de-program his lover from a lifetime of Lunari abuse, but not tonight. They still have to make a concrete plan for how to approach the latest egregious demand Aphelios is tasked with.

Once in bed and with Sett cuddling Aphelios to him like he always does—despite the occasional complaints from the Lunari that sleeping against the beast-man was like sleeping against a furnace, Sett always insisted (and always won), playing the card of how little skinship they were able to have otherwise—the Vastayan lays out his thoughts.

“Can ya spare a couple more days here?” He asks. “I think I need at least two to get my shit sorted, Rhoanna will have to agree to take over the pit while I’m gone, but it ain’t like it’s the first time I’ve had to go on a trip.”

Aphelios tilts his head where it’s laying against Sett’s shoulder, an expression of incredulity on his face.

“You’re not coming,” he says as emphatically as he can, given that his voice is hoarse and he coughs immediately after.

“Uh, _yeah I am_ ,” Sett fires back, while still petting the Lunari’s back as the coughing subsides. “I told ya not to wreck your voice—”

Aphelios pulls away, sits up straight.

 _You are not coming_ , he signs emphatically.

The body language with which this is said is sufficient gas on the nearly dead embers of their earlier argument, and Sett sits up too, immediately riled.

“So, what?” he growls, “you can go, but it’s too dangerous for me? The fuck kinda logic is that? I am real fuckin’ strong you know, it’s not like I’d be in your way—”

 _If you go I will not be able to concentrate,_ Aphelios retorts, _and that will make it more dangerous for the both of us._

Sett’s ears swivel backwards, a sign that he’s very irritated. “Hey! I said I ain’t gonna get in your way! You think I’d fuck around with you and jeopardize somethin’ this serious?”

Now Aphelios realizes that it’s Sett who doesn’t understand, and he immediately softens.

 _No._ He reaches out and lays an affectionate hand on Sett’s chest, over where his heart is. _You would be smart and strong and in any other circumstance, an excellent partner. But I will be too worried, even though I know you can handle yourself. It’s my worry that would make me make mistakes._

It’s true; Aphelios’ feelings for Sett are so strong that there have been instances where they’ve impacted the Lunari’s behaviour and thoughts, even under the influence of noctum, like when he’d managed to sever the conduit connection when the two had accidentally been tethered. However narrow the chance that he’d be swayed so strongly even with the poison, he doesn’t want to take it. Aphelios wants this risky mission to be as predictable as possible.

Settling a little, the Vastayan considers this. While his fighting style is enhanced when he lets his emotions get involved, Sett understands that Aphelios is the opposite. “Well, we’ll see. I’m still comin’ with you to Buhru, to negotiate. You gotta at least agree to let me make sure all the details are taken care of.”

Aphelios raises his hands to protest further, the idea of Sett joining him even partially for a Lunari mission is incomprehensible, but his objection is presciently read by Sett who cuts him off before the first word is even formed.

“’Member like, five minutes ago, when I told ya that you need to let me help ya? And that you can start now?” Sett’s voice is forceful with authority, it’s clear he won’t waver on his position.

Aphelios considered his options and relents, if only for now. He wants a moment alone, might even sip a partial dose of noctum to talk it over with Alune. For as much as he doesn’t want Sett involved in any capacity with his work for the Lunari, it’s also undeniable that, if they are able to hire some Buhru priests, that their protection magic will make Aphelios’ exploration of the Shadow Isles exponentially safer. He also knows that, were the situations reversed and there was something Aphelios could reasonably offer that would help Sett, that he would be deeply hurt if, for the sake of independence or keeping business and pleasure separate, Sett refused.

The Lunari lets his boyfriend pull him close again and tuck them both snugly under the covers, although Aphelios already feels too warm and sneaks a pale leg outside the blanket so he can feel a little cooler while still cuddling Sett.

“We’ll talk more about it tomorrow, ‘kay?” Sett plants a kiss where Aphelios’ black hair is almost dry and already sticking up in its stubborn cowlick. “Lemme get some details sorted out first.”

There is palpable tension between the two as quiet settles; it would be silent but for the rain hitting the roof of Sett’s house in heavy sheets. It is hard to be too upset about a fight that had started because of how much they loved each other, but it still leaves a heavy, unsettled feeling, especially since there will be more to resolve tomorrow.

But as the minutes pass and Sett relaxes into sleep, his breathing calm and even, Aphelios lays awake, reflecting. He appreciates Sett, so much. He risks little brushing touches of his fingertips against Sett’s chest, feather-light and tracing along the old scars there, off-handedly wondering where he got them all and wishing he could heal them with his hands.

He appreciates how safe he felt, even facing Sett so angry. The Vastayan has an incredible temper, and yet, he never loses control around Aphelios, never says something too cruel or does something that makes the Lunari trust him any less. There is a line of respect that is never crossed, no matter what. And he appreciates how the beast-man seems to intrinsically understand that, even when Aphelios screws up, it is never due to a lack of caring. He is always given the benefit of the doubt, his mistakes are never misattributed to malicious or sneaky intent. Sett always sees the best in the Lunari, and it makes Aphelios feel strong, capable, and… lucky.

* * *

Sett lets Aphelios sleep in, and the Lunari wakes to a note in the kitchen in horrendous, child-like handwriting that informs him the beast-man has merely gone to the pit, will start making his arrangements as discussed, and to meet him at a fancy bar they’ve been to before around dinner time so they can talk some more. It’s signed “Physical Realm’s Biggest Phel Fan” which makes Aphelios grin as he prepares late morning tea. He thinks to himself that maybe Sett was right after all, that if there are two people who can get through this, it’s them.

But he sobers as he slides into conflicted deliberations—it’s not that simple, and believing that just because they really love each other that that will matter at all is dangerously naïve. Alune is expecting to hear from him tomorrow, but he contemplates opening their connection early; he’s too blinded and heartsick when it comes to anything involving Sett, he needs to discuss things with Alune, the closest person to an objective third party. It’s not what Aphelios wanted or planned… if he doses the noctum, then this evening with his lover will be numb and distant.

He decides to cut himself some rare slack and dresses to go out for a walk, perhaps he’ll tour the marketplace and make up his mind as he window shops. He slips a vial of poison into his coat, as he always does, just in case.

The Ionian summer immediately makes it vicious, suffocating heat known as Aphelios steps out of Sett’s house, enough to make him reconsider venturing outside at all, much less with a coat on. He ends up leaving his overcoat on the landing, slipping the noctum into a pocket instead, departing in his black shirt and pants which hardly make the heat better, keeping his scarf out of habit and wishing it were wide enough to wear like a hood, he burns easily and savagely in strong sunlight.

Still, given the chance and provided he didn't lose contact with Alune, he would live here in a heartbeat, although he knows he would soon miss Targon terribly. But Ionia has a contradictory bustle and a serenity that Aphelios has great affection for, and the idea of sharing a home with Sett gives him near-delirious joy when he allows himself to get carried away with such impossible fantasies.

As he walks down the path from Sett’s secluded house to the market, passing the security he is on a first-name basis with now, he thinks fondly of how the moonflowers in Sett’s garden will be blooming again tonight… perhaps they can watch them together as they did last year, after the first time they made love.

Those memories are some of Aphelios’ favourites, and they fill his body with effervescent warmth as he recalls them. They are so distracting it takes the assassin an entire two minutes more than it usually would to realize he is being followed.

* * *

Darkness.

* * *

Something rouses him… a hand on his head. The hand is not kind and Aphelios tries to pull away from it, his head pounding as he blearily opens his eyes in time to see the hand pull back with a lock of black hair, cut away with a knife.

He is utterly disoriented and bewildered, but realizes he can feel Alune’s distressed confusion clanging in his head too. He must have understood he was in danger, rushed taking the noctum to try and get his weapons, but been ambushed while he was vulnerable. He doesn’t remember doing it but if Alune is here, tethered to him mentally while he can feel how he is bound and sitting on a cold floor physically, it must be the case.

His vision stops swimming so severely and he is able to watch the owner of the hands wrap the piece of hair in his teal ceremonial scarf, also stolen from him, before he’d regained consciousness.

Slowly, the mental gears mesh and Aphelios begins analyzing the situation. His hair and his scarf—two items of no value to anyone, but intensely personal to Aphelios… there is only one good explanation for why he’d be followed from Sett’s house and attacked, and to have these things taken from him.

He is going to be ransomed.

“You are still in Ionia, brother,” Alune tells him in a covert whisper, despite no other living person being able to hear her, her voice finally coherent as his full awareness returns. “I do not know where, but our tether was only interrupted for an hour.”

The siblings quickly put the pieces together, completing each other’s thoughts and rapidly coming to a conclusion.

“The Lunari are not known in Ionia, let alone well enough for anyone to understand your value to them,” Alune begins.

“If they are going to hold me hostage and use my scarf and hair—” Aphelios supplements,

“—They are going to ransom you to Sett.” Alune finishes.

There is no other plausible explanation. And when Aphelios understands, not even the stifling smother of the noctum is powerful enough to totally disconnect him from the cataclysmic rage that cracks open deep within, molten fury erupting from his heart and suffusing his body with a fire that burns differently than the poison.

Even though its blaze sinks beneath the ice of the noctum soon after, it changes something fundamental within the Lunari.

From where he is tied and kneeling on the floor, Aphelios takes in his surroundings; a shitty, dingy hall, almost a warehouse, filled with disorganized boxes, casks and random objects that vary from rusted weapons to polished silverware. It is every inch the cliché gang hideout, and the twelve or so men milling about that Aphelios can count are quintessential, grubby thugs. Small fry. Probably envious of Sett’s success in the underworld, looking to use Aphelios as a pawn to steal their piece of The Boss’s pie.

Aphelios observes the man who cut his hair, the violet in his eyes eclipsed with hatred, pitch black. The unsuspecting gangster goes over to chat with his cronies and the assassin prepares himself, breathing deeply and scanning his body, ensuring that every last muscle and tendon is honed, will work in deadly concert to achieve what he is planning.

Before he can act, Alune’s private mind reaches Aphelios in a semi-articulated state; a thought she didn’t intend to share, but it transmits partially over their connection. It amounts to knowing that, when Sett finds out, this building and everyone in it, anyone ever associated with it and possibly anyone who’d ever even breathed in its general vicinity… all will be annihilated.

It only firms Aphelios’ will, and before Alune can process his decision and interrogate him about it, Aphelios broadcasts to her that he will accept no other way, she is to support him wholeheartedly with her supernatural talents.

“Give me Crescendum,” he demands.

Instantly, he feels the boomerang blade in his hands, bound though they are behind his back. The ropes tying him fall away as he easily cuts through them, and in the next instant he is sprinting to his nearest kidnapper, dragging the moonstone edge across a soft, unprotected belly; the squelch of guts spilling mixes with a short, stunned cry.

Stealth doesn’t matter—it’s not like Aphelios can really get the drop on all of them in a big, open room like this—and the Lunari has single-handedly taken out a bigger group of more capable enemies before. Two more bandits fall nearby, dead before they hit the ground, one nearly decapitated.

By now, the rest have been fully alerted and are rushing to try and overwhelm Aphelios, but already in just the space of a micro-thought, Alune reads his needs and Gravitum swaps in for Crescendum, and the charging enemies are suddenly immobilized, rooted to the ground by orbs of dark matter. No sooner do they understand they are sitting ducks than moonlit bullets from Calibrum pierce their skulls.

Four die this way, falling where they were snared, and the rest are sniped as they turn tail and attempt escape from their prisoner.

The place stinks of blood and viscera, but Aphelios is immune; the scents, sights and sensations of this world brush past him as he channels the supernatural power of the spirit moon for the purpose of vengeance.

Abruptly, all is quiet.

…It’s clear these people had no concept of who they were dealing with—must have assumed that he was just some fragile pretty boy who’d managed to snag The Boss on looks alone. As Aphelios retraces his steps to the man who stole his scarf, the preternatural silence is disturbed by a gurgling cough.

It’s coming from beside a musty stack of boxes, near the far wall and where Aphelios presumes is an exit. He retrieves his crumpled scarf from the clutches of the first one he killed, and loops it back around his shoulders as he makes his way to the last one he will kill.

He inspects the man. It was a headshot, but the bullet went through a cheek instead of the brain, and now the Lunari is mutely staring down as the man tries to form desperate words with his broken mouth.

“P-please,” the man says around the blood and shattered teeth in his mouth. “Don’t kill me, I’ll do anything—”

 _You can die_ , Aphelios thinks, and he feels his sister’s shock once the thought transmits to her.

Irrelevant.

Though it comes with a palpable sense of reluctance, Alune swaps his weapon again.

Severum descends. The man’s throat opens in a spurt of crimson.

…The last one. He is the last one, and now he is dead, along with all the others.

The ethereal moonstone weapon disintegrates, leaving Aphelios’ hand empty as he stands over the corpse.

He knows he should be feeling _something_. At the very least a twinge, even under the influence of noctum. For Aphelios _hates_ killing; Alune is usually the one able to smooth his conscience and give some beauty, some meaning to the death he deals. But now, the tangled mess of his emotions has slithered under the filter of the poison again, too distant and too indecipherable for him to connect with. They do not escape Alune’s attention, and after a pregnant silence, her voice emanates inside her brother’s head.

“…Are you… alright?”

He pauses, checking himself bodily for any injuries that had gone unnoticed due to his lack of sensation, finding nothing.

“I’m fine,” he replies tonelessly. But he can read Alune’s hesitation, because she wants him to.

“I didn’t mean physically… I feel your anger, Phel.”

Still gazing impassively at the body on the floor, Aphelios responds with disinterested silence.

“I am so glad you are okay though… I was so frightened…”

“I wasn’t in any real danger, especially not with you.” Not exactly true, they both know, but it makes it more palatable to pretend.

He can feel his sister’s desires, her deep worry: she is trying to probe his heart, trying to get him to confront his rare rage that came down as sudden and as fleeting as a cleaving bolt of lightning. He has never killed before when it was avoidable.

But it’s already buried, he hardly remembers what she’s even referring to, and so he rejects her attempts and forcefully refocuses her on the matters at hand, the business he still wants to take care of.

“Give me Infernum,” he tells her.

There is another resisting pause, his sister vacillating on whether to fight him.

“Aphelios… you don’t need to...”

She feels the glacial weight of his single-minded determination and abandons her opposition. His fingers close around the handles of his flamethrower. Now, Alune says nothing, waiting to see if her brother will really do what she sees him envisioning in his mind.

He surveys the place one last time; the whole ordeal was so brief and unexpected, and given that he was unconscious for an hour if it, it feels like it amounted to no more than ten minutes. But twelve men have been turned to corpses, and though he is unaware of the full spate of consequences right now, he has completed something critical, irrevocable. This day is a demarcation, Aphelios will never be quite the same ever again.

His jaw sets and pale fire spews from his gun, piles of junk and loot catching quickly. He makes sure that every single body is alight before guaranteeing the interior has caught well enough that there will be no saving it, it will burn to the fucking ground, and the men who tried to use him as a lure will turn to ashes lost in the dirt.

Aphelios leaves without a backward glance, ghosting into an alley before the smoke draws attention and he is compromised, taking a winding, circuitous route to the pit just in case he is still being followed.

* * *

If Aphelios’ unexpected, early arrival isn’t signal enough that something is amiss, the first breath Sett inhales in the Lunari’s proximity is sufficient. Sett’s ears flatten against his skull and his nose wrinkles as he processes the stenches of burning, of blood and of the noctum.

“Holy fuck Phel,” the Vastayan rushes over, seizing Aphelios by the arms. This close, the smell is overpowering. The Lunari reeks of Death, and Sett’s fur stands on end as his fight or flight instinct reels. “Are ya hurt? Are you okay? Why are you on the noctum again? Is that your blood I smell or someone else’s? What the fuck is goin’ on?”

When the Lunari answers with icy silence, Sett loosens his grip, dismayed; his heart hammering in his chest as he tries vainly to calm himself from jumping to too many conclusions, especially with Aphelios being so reticent it borders on hostility.

The Vastayan knows it would probably be better to give his lover some space, but he compulsively starts caressing and touching him all over instead—he thumbs at a crimson drop on his pale cheek and realizes it is dry and the blood does not belong to Aphelios, he smoothes disheveled black hair and runs his hands over the smaller man’s torso, only relaxing a little when he finds no wounds. Aphelios permits him to perform his little check-up, sullen and silent.

Sett breathes in deeply, collecting his thoughts and deliberating on how best to coax an explanation from Aphelios, who is clearly not entirely present, not entirely in his right mind. Deciding that, so long as his boyfriend is immediately safe, Sett’s best strategy is to be patient, and kind.

He gently pulls the Lunari into him again, enveloping him in a tender embrace, kissing the top of his head despite the awful, bone-chilling smell. They stand like this in Sett’s office, alone, Sett holding the non-responsive assassin, determined to help ground him until he can recognize his moon bunny in there again.

It takes a while.

At first, Sett assumes it’s just the twitch of his muscles under the Vastayan’s large hand as Sett slowly rubs Aphelios’ back, but when it happens again and again, the beast-man realizes these twitches are stifled sobs. Finally, Aphelios animates and lifts his hand to Sett’s chest where he buries his face, not even realizing the beast-man is wearing his Lunari necklace as he always does now, ever since he gave it to him, and his crying becomes audible, voiceless though it is.

“Shhh, baby,” Sett coos, astonished, heartbroken. What the _fuck_ had happened in the span of a day? More Shadow Isles drama? It kills Sett not to know, but the most important thing is Aphelios is finally thawing in his arms.

Sett keeps murmuring sweet nothings, hoping the low, calm rumble of his voice will help slow things down, but Aphelios’ weeping becomes inconsolable, leeching his strength until the Vastayan feels him wobble on weak knees and decides to pick him up, carrying him over to a couch where he cradles him close. Sett knows Aphelios sometimes cries while on the noctum, divorced though he is from the emotional root of the tears, but this is beyond the pale.

“Whatever happened, you’re safe now sweetheart.” Sett promises this over and over until it seems to finally break through and he can feel Aphelios’ breathing begin to soothe, the sobs turning into sniffles and finally, peace.

At last, the Lunari sits up from where he was balled in Sett’s lap, creating enough room for him to sign.

 _I was kidnapped_.

Fuck.

No fucking way, Sett thinks. He had churned through a hundred possibilities in his head while waiting for Aphelios to calm down, but just with that little sentence, all is crystallized for the beast-man. Beyond his control, Sett’s temper erupts, and his magic ignites with such force, Aphelios leaps to his feet, stunned.

He watches helpless as Sett becomes cyclonic, the couch they were just sitting on practically disintegrates into splinters with the force of the Vastayan’s fists—Aphelios didn’t even know flesh and bone could _do_ that to furniture—and it takes a little over a minute for the rest of Sett’s office, the desk, the chair, some filing shelves and an armoire, to be reduced to matchsticks; papers and feather stuffing are swirling through the air as if it’s just a rambunctious pillow fight.

When Sett finally catches sight of the shock on Aphelios’ face, he freezes, abruptly regains his senses, his magic receding immediately as he shrinks with shame. He is disgusted that he’s just lost it so badly that the Lunari, even under the smother of the poison, is looking at him like that, especially when he is the one who still needed comforting.

“Fuck!” Sett howls, feeling impotent, furious, ashamed and devastated.

This is all his fault.

“Fuck,” Sett groans, feeling defeated. Tentatively, he approaches Aphelios, who is still standing in the middle of the carnage, dumbfounded but unscathed. The Vastayan is heartened when the Lunari doesn’t recoil… perhaps he is lucky as Aphelios isn’t as scared after that display as he should be.

“…Let’s get home,” Sett says after a long pause. He is incredibly relieved when Aphelios nods his head and allows the beast-man to reach for and hold his hand, and he guides them both through the demolished office to find a bewildered Rhoanna, who reluctantly agrees to take over the pit and get someone to clean Sett’s office, though she is smart enough to not demand an explanation for either of these tasks.

* * *

Aphelios is becoming more and more sure that his dosage of the noctum was a fractional one; based on how quickly he is reconnecting with his emotions and corporeal sensations, plus a large, dried stain on his shirt that stank of the flowers, he assumes that he was interrupted before he could down the whole vial. Alune is already dimming a little, though he could feel her fear, immediate and urgent, jangling in his mind while she had watched through his eyes as Sett had destroyed his office. Otherwise, she has kept silent, even while her trepidation and deep worry are pulling at Aphelios like tenterhooks.

With his increasing sobriety, his memory of his experiences that day is also intensifying, black and white outlines filling with the vivid colour of the emotional impact his heart always stores, even when the noctum makes it feel like he has no heart at all.

Sitting on the stairs of Sett’s porch, clothed in one of Sett’s clean silk robes, Aphelios looks out into the garden, beginning to feel more and more overwhelmed. He is nearly at his emotional limit, worried he’s about to lose his grip and become hysterical or worse, shut down completely, when the Vastayan emerges from the house, changed as well and bearing two cups of iced tea. In the presence of Sett Aphelios calms instantly. Panic attack averted, Aphelios masters himself as his huge lover joins him on the steps.

They are quiet for a while, sipping the tea and gathering their thoughts as birds chirp blithely and the afternoon matures, still too hot, though more bearable with a cold drink and sitting in the shade like this.

While she usually gives the two men as much privacy as the supernatural connection between the twins allows, Aphelios can sense Alune waiting with bated breath, eavesdropping on every facet of the interaction, impatient for words to finally be spoken. He lets her know he knows she’s lurking and it’s bothering him, but when her psychic energy stubbornly does not recede, he relents, too overwhelmed to pick a fight with his sister on top of everything else that feels like it’s about to crush him.

After a long while, Sett is the first to talk.

“You sure you’re okay? Like, physically speakin’. You really ain’t hurt anywhere?”

Aphelios shakes his head to confirm he’s fine. Physically speaking.

Then, at length, he poses his own question.

 _Why do you feel responsible?_ he asks.

He watches as Sett’s ears swivel backwards hard, a cue that the Lunari has cut straight to the quick, faster than Sett was prepared for. It hadn’t been a _lucky_ guess per se, but Aphelios is still mildly surprised that his intuition is so accurate. There had just been something in the knowing immediacy, in the violence of Sett’s reaction to being told Aphelios had been kidnapped, that had made the younger man wonder. Perhaps it was merely that Sett had cleverly come to the same conclusion he had; that anyone trying to abduct Aphelios here in Ionia was likely doing so with the objective of fucking with the crime lord. But it felt like Sett hadn’t been surprised for long enough, had filled in too many details just based on the one sentence explanation the Lunari had been able to give him.

Sett sighs heavily, tenting his thick fingers and bringing them to his lips as he gives rare, careful consideration to the next words that come out of his mouth.

“…I had a gut feelin’… I really didn’t think it’d get to this point, I thought I had it handled, but… I had a feelin’.”

This is a bit beyond what Aphelios had speculated, and taken aback, he waits for Sett to clarify.

The Vastayan again searches for words for a moment before, abruptly, he deflates against the stairs, looking the smallest Aphelios has ever seen him. His features are dark and full of evident pain.

“I’m sorry, Phel,” he mutters thickly. “I’m a huge fuckin’ hypocrite.”

Now _this_ is not what the Lunari had expected at all, and though it is still at arm’s length due to the noctum, he feels fear.

“After all that shit I said to you yesterday about lettin’ me in on stuff, about how you ain’t protectin’ me if I gotta deal with the consequences anyway…”

A heavy, awful pause.

“There’s somethin’ I’ve been keepin’ from ya, and I thought… I thought it was the right thing to do ‘cause I didn’t wanna upset ya, but now look what’s happened. You coulda been hurt, real bad, all because I thought I had shit handled when I clearly didn’t...”

Hearing Sett tell him that he’s been keeping a secret rocks Aphelios deep in his core. Paralyzed by his conflicting reactions to this information, he sits stock still, not reaching out to offer a comforting touch for his lover like he might usually, seeing Sett this torn up.

“Everyone knows about you, Phel. Like, everyone I deal with. Word’s really gotten around, and I definitely didn’t do anything to stop it. But in hindsight, it was real fuckin’ arrogant of me to think that shit like this wouldn’t become a problem… I… look, I really thought I had it managed—”

 _Just tell me now,_ Aphelios commands. In rare display of lost patience, he wants clarification immediately, and this skirting of the core issue is just making everything worse.

And so, Sett explains.

Everyone with any involvement in the Ionian underworld, and many who were merely involved in the mercantile trades or entertainment instead; all knew Sett. Most were aware of his appetites, that the beast-man had taken dozens upon dozens of lovers, of all genders and occasionally, of several species. But since it was merely fucking, a good romp in the sheets, no one really cared… it was just chalked up to an insatiable, animal appetite with an ‘any port in a storm’ philosophy guiding it.

But, after that first night shared together, with Aphelios gifting Sett his Lunari necklace, the pit boss had indeed started wearing it, all too happy to brag about the man he was going to marry who had given it to him. Although those close to Sett and who held genuine affection for him were happy, most of his ‘colleagues’ were, plainly, revolted. It was as sudden as a shift in the wind before a violent storm. It felt like overnight, Ionia was filled once more with hostile whispers about the beast-man bastard, the fact that he wanted to marry another man was the perfect toe-hold for the insidious, festering resentment to gain traction once more. Some even dared to say that this is what happened when a boy was raised by too soft a mother, though they were cowardly enough about it that Sett could never track down the specific individuals, on a warpath though he was. Overall, it seemed like anyone who’d ever held a grudge against him for whatever various reasons—for rising too high too quick, for ways he had fucked them over, for ways he had won fairly, for being a half-breed freak—now they were all given tacit permission to openly nurse these grievances once more.

It boiled down to many asserting that a creature like Sett had never been fit to be The Boss, much less now that he'd lost all credibility after falling in love with a man, and, if taking him down outright failed, perhaps they could punish him into docile submission another way.

Until now, the various crime factions had been too small-time or too disorganized to pose a real threat, and Sett had again personally proven his supremacy by eliminating a rival crime boss or two with his own hands when they’d tried shit with him.

As he’d said… he’d thought he’d had it handled.

Of course, it had occurred to him that Aphelios was at some risk, and so Sett had tripled security around his house whenever the Lunari visited. But they were hardly ever apart, able to meet so seldomly and wanting to spend every moment together possible, and Sett knew no one would be bold enough to try something with him to go through first. Any sense of danger had faded quickly. But, looking back, that morning had been the first time in the year since forming their relationship that Aphelios had been in risky territory alone, for any substantial period of time. Sett had been too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to prevent Aphelios from dying in the Shadow Isles for the petty rivalry that had already simmered down to take up much of his mental bandwidth.

He’d miscalculated, he’d gotten too confident, he had been careless.

And now, even with that impassive mask the noctum overlaid on his moon bunny’s face, he can tell: his lover has been traumatized.

“I’m so sorry,” Sett repeats for the seemingly thousandth time. “I’ll make it right, I’ll fix it, I swear. If you can remember anything ‘bout where you were brought, what it looked like, I’ll make sure not a single one of those fuckers ever—”

 _They are all dead,_ Aphelios signs. _I killed them all. I burnt their hideout to the ground_.

Sett freezes, a million emotions making his heart palpitate and his huge hands tremble. A small part of him is gleeful, gratified that his boyfriend can handle himself so well. But a much larger part is horrified and devastated, because the darkness in the Lunari’s eyes is chilling and Sett wishes impossibly that he could turn back time so his heartlight wouldn’t have to have dirtied his hands like that. Because Sett knows, too, that while Aphelios is a capable, highly-trained assassin with innumerable corpses he’s made, that the Lunari’s heart is soft and sensitive and he loses a tiny sliver of that every time he takes a life.

 _Why didn’t you tell me?_ Aphelios is already refocusing the conversation, demanding answers.

“…I… well,” Sett stammers. It’s harder to put into words than he’d have thought. “I didn’t want you to feel ashamed or guilty. I know you don’t ever wanna make things difficult for people, ‘n I just… I didn’t wanna legitimize any of the shit they said by lettin’ it change anything. I ain’t never gonna not be with you, for any reason, so it felt kinda like… like I shouldn’t tell ya that people wanted us apart, ‘cause it didn’t fuckin’ matter. And I didn’t want ya to think that you were makin’ things harder for me, in any way.”

Aphelios contemplates this motivation, and realizes that any resentment he feels isn’t directed toward Sett. Again, if their situations were reversed and the Lunari elders ever found out about his forbidden relationship, he couldn’t see himself repeating any of the things that would be said about them; any hateful words said or demands made would be Aphelios’ burden to bear alone.

“I know I’m a real shithead, getting’ all high n’ mighty like that with you yesterday, ‘n look what fuckin’ happened…”

No, Aphelios isn’t mad at Sett at all; really, Sett is being too hard on himself, disproportionate to the supposed trespass he’s committed against Aphelios.

The Lunari reaches out for one of Sett’s massive hands where the beast-man is holding his knees against himself like a hurt child, and takes it in both of his own. It is exceedingly difficult to try and think of what to say to comfort the other when he still feels such distance due to the poison, reduced though its effects are.

Sett’s ears perk a little, and with eager, golden eyes he looks at Aphelios. It’s clear he’s yearning for sweetness and affection.

“It’s also why I ain’t been feelin’ like I could… ya know… I’ve been wantin’ to propose to you again for real this time, like we talked about… I wanted this shit all sorted before I did but now it would be the perfect time…”

Sett trails off as he realizes he’s pushed his luck much too far, brought up something he shouldn’t have quite yet, and at the worst time. The little flame of warmth that was flickering underneath the noctum gutters and the beast-man watches as Aphelios turns to stoic moonstone again.

Of course Aphelios loves Sett and deeply wants to be his husband, but the emotional weight of the topic and the realization that _this_ was why Sett had previously brushed off the times Aphelios had tried to make concrete plans with any seriousness… 

This is one of the rare times that the Vastayan hasn’t given the Lunari the emotional space to process something heavy before adding something more; and instead of marriage, Aphelios thinks of the twelve men he killed when he could have just as easily escaped, how their ashes might still be smouldering under the plumes of oily smokes polluting the Ionian summer sky.

It’s too much.

Aphelios is too depleted.

 _I just want to go back to sleep,_ he pulls his hands away from Sett’s to sign, and does not replace them when he’s finished. _You can go back to work, I’ll be safe here. When you get home we can discuss the Shadow Isles._

Big, red ears sag again. But, after a moment, their owner nods, understanding and contemplating his myriad mistakes that have made this day turn out the way it has.

“Yeah… sure. Still have some things I need to take care of, and you’ll be alright here…” Sett doesn’t sound even remotely convinced of what he’s saying, and in the next sentence, reverses himself anyway. “Shouldn’t I just stay with you? You can sleep all ya want, I won’t bug ya, but… I don’t need to go back today… I can figure shit out tomorrow and just… ya know… be around if ya need me.”

It’s rare for Sett to try to speak around his true meaning, but his body language and tone are so hopelessly obvious he isn’t really hiding anything anyway. He desperately wants Aphelios to need him close, wants so badly for Aphelios to let him comfort him, unconsciously is begging to be comforted, too...

…Aphelios is too depleted.

_I don’t want to wait longer than we have to before we make preparations. Please take care of what you need to as soon as possible, and we will talk tonight._

The Lunari doesn’t wait for Sett to respond before he rises and, machine-like, treads through the house and climbs back into bed, leaving a heartsick Vastayan moping forlornly on his porch.

* * *


	2. Waxing Crescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I have named the woman who appears in Sett's splash art Rhoanna.
> 
> Also, this is where it's going get kind of inventive with the lore, but if you find yourself wondering 'what did this author smoke before writing this' I really recommend you look at Necrit's video analyzing the "None Escape" LoR cinematic, which can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uRI9gw_Flcc  
> His breakdown of the video and lore have been highly influential in the direction I am taking this story in, and if you haven't checked his stuff out before, you should! It's awesome.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is going to be SO fluffy, probably too fluffy, but I hope you enjoy this tooth-rotting sweet reprieve before the next two chapters which will be more angst! And hopefully by the time time I get my shit together to post the next installment, a really cool thing a reader is creating will be ready, some fan art of one of the scenes in this chapter *mega uwu*

* * *

**WAXING CRESCENT**

* * *

Much later, deep in the small hours of the night, Sett and Aphelios finally conclude their discussions regarding the Shadow Isles.

The outcome is a pleasant surprise to Sett, who had assumed he’d have to really fight Phel on the matter of him coming along, and at the very least as far as Buhru, but Aphelios himself had already been surprised earlier when he’d consulted Alune for her opinion, before he’d allowed himself to fall into the oblivion of sleep. Her emphatic recommendation was to let Sett come, even into the Shadow Isles themselves, if it was possible. 

With the noctum dimming fast it had been difficult to communicate, becoming almost one-sided, where Aphelios could still gather the essence of what Alune was saying, but with him having to concentrate hard to get his questions and concerns to penetrate the veil. She had agreed that Aphelios’ mission was his own, but that in this one circumstance, the more help he could get, the better. Still deeply conflicted, Aphelios had ceded that he would at least take the initial part of the trip with the Vastayan, letting Sett handle negotiations and help with preparations, but it would be his judgement call on whether Sett would end up remaining in Buhru or coming with him to the Isles.

Laying out his terms, so much better than what Sett had been dreading (another fight where they both doubled down) that it’s automatic for Sett to agree, Aphelios and his beast-man boyfriend sit at the kitchen table making a list of supplies they will need and services they’ll have to procure. They also read through a couple of ancient tomes Sett’s left-hand man, Kirin, had lent him on the Blessed Isles and the Black Mist. In fact, one of the things both men agreed upon was that Kirin would come as well; the grizzled old man with the wide straw hat and few words was the best of Sett’s personal staff at procuring unusual, rare, useful and contraband objects, Rhoanna being the one Sett trusted to run the pits like he had never left.

Catching Sett trying to covertly peer at him for the countless time, the Vastayan’s lovesick expression comically blatant, Aphelios gently scolds his lover and instructs him to concentrate on the dusty book in front of him as he looks back at his. The little exchange serves to break the sullen mood that’s been stagnating between them since the revelations earlier in the day, and the fist that feels like it’s been clenching Sett’s heart for hours relaxes a little at the sight of Aphelios’ slight but affectionate smile.

“I never cared much for readin’ at the best of times,” Sett flirts, a little test to see how much Aphelios has defrosted from the noctum, “so how do ya expect me to be able to concentrate when you’re here, lookin’ so pretty, mooncake?”

The smile that Aphelios is wearing now has a markedly wry quality, even though it’s subtle, and Sett is incapable of hiding how he’s rejoicing, so relieved, which Aphelios finds touching, and charming. Both have felt crushed under the weight of what might be in store, of what’s happened that day but still hasn’t been fully spoken of, and the tension from their arguments making them feel taut and brittle. But with Sett’s adoration for Aphelios so open and readable on his face, these burdens lose their teeth and the force of their presence recedes into the background for a little while.

 _How about we read this one together?_ Aphelios suggests with sudden mischief, smiling again at the confused expression on the Vastayan’s face.

“Ain’t that what we’re doin’ right now?” Sett asks. “Or is this some kinda nerd double entendre I ain’t gettin’?”

 _I am not a nerd_ , Aphelios retorts playfully as he climbs into a very receptive Sett’s lap. _Here, like this_.

Encircled by Sett’s body, Aphelios holds the book up so they can both read, and when Sett gets it he chuckles before he rests his chin on the Lunari’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Phel’s stomach to hold him close.

“You’re right, much better.” They’re both grinning because they are fully aware that Sett will be able to concentrate even less, now. “After all, I _am_ the best seat in the house.”

Aphelios groans at the suggestive colour in the words and pokes one of Sett’s muscled forearms. _Behave_.

“I bet my lap is _real_ nice,” Sett continues unphased, and with that tone in his voice Aphelios knows whatever’s coming next is going to be absolutely filthy. “But how ‘bout next time you sit on my fa—ow!”

 _Stop!_ Aphelios signs once he’s finished pinching Sett as punishment. But Sett is in a mood and is wholly undeterred, lifting one of his hands to pull the collar of the silk robe away from the nape of Aphelios’ white neck, and the tiny, breathless sound that comes from the Lunari’s throat when Sett nuzzles and kisses there is like a flashing neon sign of encouragement for the beast-man to keep going. The book makes a dull _thunk_ as it’s dropped against the table, Aphelios’ ability to think articulately dimming fast.

 _Tomorrow, we hire a secured ship for passage to Buhru, departure in two days from now?_ he signs as Sett slips a tanned, rough hand inside the folds of the robe, fingertips ghosting over the bud of a nipple that becomes instantly peaked. It’s harder to get his message across with Sett reading the signs from behind, but Sett is smart and Aphelios is soon in no condition to write it out instead, so they make do.

“Mmhm,” Sett intones against the skin just below Aphelios’ earlobe. He can feel the Lunari’s quickening pulse on his lips.

 _And…_ (Aphelios struggles to keep his train of thought as Sett tweaks his nipple, the Vastayan’s other hand descending to grip at Aphelios’ inner thigh) _after that… we go to your bank and… withdraw a down payment of gold…_

“Yup,” Sett confirms before he catches the earlobe lightly between his teeth. The sigh that tumbles from Aphelios’ mouth is enough that Sett gets so hard the younger man can feel every inch pressed against his ass.

 _And…_ _after that…_

(What Aphelios wants to say unravels into incoherence when Sett starts kneading the flesh where the Lunari’s leg meets his hip, his knuckles brushing Aphelios’ stiffening cock through the skintight fabric of his underwear. This juncture—the top of Phel’s thigh right beside the dip of his pelvis—is one of Sett’s favourite places to grab hold of when he is fucking Aphelios from behind, and his hand is so large that it slots into the entirety of Phel’s inguinal crease.)

_After… we… in Bilgewater we’ll ask Kirin to see if there are any… to get a Buhru relic… we…_

“You got it, mooncake,” Sett murmurs in a low, rough voice, his breath tickling the shell of Aphelios’ ear before he leans forward just a little more so he can kiss a pale cheek, and he thinks about how much he loves this man, how lucky he is that his Phel is safe with him now, and forgiving and loving and resilient enough to let himself be melted like this in Sett’s arms even after what happened. “We’ll get it all taken care of, don’t you worry.”

Aphelios gives an unsteady little nod before signing one last thing:

 _Then please fuck me_.

Sett’s ears flicker hard as his bloodstream floods with a deluge of endorphins and he lifts the hand that was toying with Phel’s nipple to slip a couple fingers into the wet heat of his lover’s willing mouth instead, where they are immediately met with Phel’s ready tongue.

“As you command,” he growls, ever the Lunari’s acquiescent servant.

* * *

No matter the season, Bilgewater Bay feels like a place in a perpetual state of murk; every surface looks crusted with (sometimes several layers of) multitudinous barnacles, and when the sun does shine there, its beams diffuse mistily through air so thick with the sea it feels like it’s near congealing. Sett struggles the most with how demanding all the strong smells are—he tells Aphelios that even the good ones like fresh food are so pungent he feels like he’s being punched in the face. The Vastayan isn’t aggrieved in the slightest when they leave the very next morning for Buhru, after having only arrived in the Bay the previous afternoon.

But the claustrophobic, teetering city built precariously into massive cliff faces affords Sett the opportunity to deepen his already considerable admiration for his boyfriend; he doesn’t even care when he’s been relegated to third wheel as he watches Kirin and Aphelios discuss which locations and people to visit to maximize their time here before continuing on to the other side of the Serpent Isles. He loves seeing how knowledgeable the Lunari is—so well-traveled and so well informed that several times even Kirin has to admit that Aphelios’ ideas are better than his. And that means something, because Kirin is the canniest, most knowledgeable person Sett knows. It spawns a new nickname for Phel— _smartypants_ —for which Sett is rewarded with Aphelios sticking his tongue out at him when Kirin is turned away.

It also fosters an intense desire within Sett to see the world with his lover; to be with Aphelios as he experiences places and shares his insight into the local cultures, without the looming dark shadow of the pressure to find Diana. When Aphelios finally achieves this mission, (and Sett doesn’t permit a doubt in his mind that Phel will accomplish whatever he sets his mind to) Sett fantasizes that after the Lunari has a chance to settle and rest for a bit, he will spoil Aphelios with a luxury trip across Runeterra.

In any case, something about the clustered, stilted city with verdigris air makes Sett uneasy, even though in theory its lawlessness and chaos should be right up his alley, and he is massively relieved when they can leave.

He takes what feels like his first deep breath since the day before as he eavesdrops on Kirin speaking one-sidedly to Aphelios, all of them on the deck of the ship they’ve hired to bring them safely to Buhru. The craft is still threading its way through the Bay proper, and Sett crinkles his nose as Bilgewater bids them goodbye with one final stench of rank sea creature meat, wafting from the docks where it’s being dismembered for sale and its seeping blood is turning the ocean crimson.

“This one was a good find, lad,” Kirin’s deep voice is toned with something that sounds both like professional and paternal admiration. The old man is holding up a golden idol, roughened with age and numerous times being plundered, but of clear Buhru design. It had cost a fortune to procure from a pawnbroker (an awfully generous job title that didn’t convey half of the completely illegal activities that merchant had been involved in) but all three men were confident that it would be an irresistible pot-sweetener when it came time to negotiate with the Buhru priesthood. It was also hoped that offering to return a stolen religious treasure would be a gesture of good faith that would be returned in kind with the earnest protection of Aphelios.

Aphelios signs something which Sett doesn’t see with his back turned, looking overboard as he is with mild disgust at the slaughter docks that are becoming increasingly dilapidated and covered in old gore, now that they are heading through waters farther and farther from Bilgewater proper. But the Lunari must have expressed some measure of doubt because Kirin responds with a gruff attempt to reassure him, which just goes even further to demonstrate the old man’s respect (and perhaps even affection) for the assassin. Kirin can hardly be bothered to comfort Sett on most occasions, and the geezer was the closest thing the Vastayan had to a father figure.

“It’ll work, don’t worry. Well, it’ll help. Faith-types have much in common. Wouldn’t your kin take kindly to someone offering to return some long-lost moon relic?”

The parallel isn’t really appropriate; Sett knows enough through his intel gathering that the Lunari are actually noted for their lack of materialism—though they do cherish moonstone, it would be much more accurate to say that the reliquaries of the moon worshippers are their bodies themselves, marked as they are in permanent dedication to Mother Moon. And though even Kirin doesn’t know this, the Lunari are much too obscure, the essence of his remark is still noted and seems to make sense to Aphelios, because Sett sees him nodding thoughtfully when he finally turns away from the railing.

Sensing that his employer wants a moment with his lover, Kirin departs without further remark, only a little bow of his head, finding some pretext with which to busy himself elsewhere in the ship. Sett comes to stand beside the Lunari who is still turning the golden idol over and over in his gloved hands, as if examining the object from a different angle might offer insight into their predicament as a whole.

But the Buhru are only a means to an end, and even Kirin’s extensive wisdom and diverse knowledge could offer little on the topic of the Shadow Isles themselves.

“How’re ya feelin’ sweetheart?” Sett asks, planting a modest little kiss in Aphelios’ obsidian hair. This close, Sett can’t help but take in the scent of his boyfriend, and the familiar sandalwood fragrance is a welcome cleansing of the last stinks of Bilgewater. “You doin’ okay? If it’d make you feel better, you know you can take the noctum. I know it’s easier when ya got your sister around.”

Aphelios lowers the statue, turning to look up at Sett with clear, violet eyes and shaking his head. When his hands are empty, he signs to explain.

_I **am** worried. And the worry is intense. But I don’t want to be on the noctum if I don’t have to, especially not when it makes talking or being with you so much more difficult._

He pauses, chewing on his lower lip a little as he thinks, and Sett stores this little moment away in his memory banks because it is so rare to see even these tiny physical cues from his stoic lover.

_I’m also worried that this will be the last time we can see each other for a while. If the impossible happens and I find Diana, I will have to return to Targon for a long time. I don’t know how long. And if she’s not there, I’ll still have to go back. I need to update the elders and replenish my noctum._

Sett hadn’t necessarily thought that far ahead himself. He’s been a little too preoccupied with how incredibly fucking dangerous the Shadow Isles are going to be (though he is heartened to realize that, if Aphelios is already thinking that far in the future, the Lunari is sufficiently assured he will survive even this mission) and how incredibly fucking dangerous it was for Aphelios to have been kidnapped, which they still haven’t really talked about, despite four or five days already having elapsed.

 _There will be a time to use the poison_ , Aphelios continues, _but… it can wait, at least until after tonight_.

Sett’s ears go rigid when he understands the implications, and he doesn’t bother to keep the smirk off his face as he replies.

“My hungry little bunny is back, hm?” He grabs Aphelios roughly by the waist, giving zero shits about any members of the hired ship crew who might be observing them with possible judgement. “I thought we talked about how we’d be all courteous ‘n shit because, and I quote a certain moon boy, ‘the ship’s walls are paper thin and everyone will be able to hear everything.’ Sound familiar?”

Aphelios goes a little red but feigns indifference and signs, _true. We should probably forget about it, then. It can wait a couple months until we have some more privacy._

The Lunari snorts some laughter as Sett broadcasts his immediate regret, his ears swiveling back and words catching on his tongue as he rushes to rescind his teasing. After a few exchanges of Aphelios telling Sett it’s too bad, he said what he said and the Vastayan groveling to be forgiven for poking fun at his boyfriend, Phel makes a great show (by his standards) of accepting Sett’s desperate apology.

But it will only take a few hours before they circumnavigate the treacherous coastline and make port again in Buhru, and so even though the sexy promise of intimacy later that night makes it a challenge for Sett to focus, especially since he decides that he’s going to find the plushest suite Buhru has for rent and the two men will have all the privacy they need, he does his best and goes to find Kirin to make final preparations while Aphelios uses a clear section of the deck to train on. If any of the ship’s crew had drawn hostile conclusions about the beautiful, dark passenger romantically involved with another man, these must be reconciled against Aphelios’ obvious exceptional strength and talent, and the extreme threat he would pose to anyone fated to meet him in the night.

* * *

Both Aphelios and Sett had been right, in a way. The Lunari had been correct on the account that gold alone would be insufficient enticement for the priests of the Bearded Lady, but the Vastayan had claimed wisely that everyone still had a price that could purchase their cooperation. It was just that, in this case, the price was not mere money.

But when they present the lost idol as a token of good faith, the demeanor of the Buhru priests changes from reticence hostile enough the trio seemed moments away from being kicked out of the Temple of the Mother Serpent, to semi-agreeable openness and ready discussion, and the party is invited to a private backroom for further negotiation. The supplicants feel exceedingly grateful that Sett had come up with the idea to try and find something special enough and irresistible enough that the Buhru would have little choice but to listen, and luckier still that Aphelios had an idea of how and where to procure such an object.

“You have done a great favour to us by restoring this artifact,” the head priest says, a huge man with a wide forehead and a flat nose, above which are perched piercing blue eyes. On either side sit four of his colleagues, another man and three women high in the Temple hierarchy, and interested in why three such vastly different foreigners are asking to hire their holy magic. “We will grant you audience in return. You may explain yourselves. For what purpose is it that you wish to use the protection magic of Nagakabouros?”

Sett speaks.

“We want safe passage into the Shadow Isles.”

The temperature of the room, even though its mosaic walls are sparkling brilliantly in the tropical sunlight pouring in from a huge open window, feels like it drops to freezing.

“Impossible,” says the elderly, lower ranked priest.

“Foolishness,” says another, a priestess with a beautiful, but harsh face.

The head priest shifts in his chair, looking as though he is swayed neither one way or the other. Without speaking, he manages to convey that he wishes for Sett to continue, to provide a reason for such a crazy request.

“This is Aphelios,” Sett introduces his lover, who for all intents and purposes during this meeting is being portrayed as the Vastayan’s ordinary client. “I’m gonna speak on his behalf ‘cause he’s mute, but he’s made his needs clear to me and I have his permission to negotiate in his stead, if need be.”

The Buhruans all look at the Lunari with intense, critical interest, scanning him up and down, eyes finally sliding back to Sett when Aphelios provides a confirming nod, unsure of what else to do.

“He’s lookin’ for someone. You guys know Mount Targon, right? Heard of the Rakkor? Well, there are two sects. You might know ‘bout the Solari, but Aphelios here is part of the other sect, the Lunari.”

“They were wiped out generations ago,” an ancient-looking priestess with clever eyes pipes up. She seems to have the most historical knowledge of the group, because the mention of the Lunari sparked no recognition amongst the others.

“Nah,” Sett corrects her as respectfully as he is capable. “Almost, though. They been hidin’ in caves for a real long time, but they exist. And Aphelios here is bein’ charged with findin’ the Aspect of the Moon. A lady named Diana.”

The head priest sits back in his chair, bringing his hand to his chin, thick golden bangles clinking musically as they shift down his dark forearm.

“I have heard tales of the Aspects of Mount Targon,” he allows tentatively. “But from many, many ages ago. And we of the faith of Nagakabouros do not believe in holding onto such ancient legends.”

“I hear ya on that one,” Sett agrees swiftly, perhaps thinking privately about how dumb he thinks all this faith and devotion crap is, for the most part. “But Diana is alive now, that’s a fact, and she’s got a purpose to fulfill to save the Lunari who might really be wiped out for real if Diana isn’t found and persuaded to help. I’m sure you can understand why it’s so important for Aphelios to bring her back. He wants to save his people.”

“And this Diana,” interjects the last priestess who had as of yet remained silent. She projects a generally fearsome air but seems to have a particular hatred for Sett, judging by the way she looks down her long nose at him. “You believe she is in the Shadow Isles?”

The skepticism of the question is so clear that it borders on sarcasm, but Sett controls his temper and continues explaining.

“Yeah, we do. A lot of the Lunari are Seers. They got spiritual ability and are granted visions ‘n stuff about people’s destinies, things like that. Aphelios’ twin sister’s the most powerful Seer of them all, and she swears that Diana is in the Shadow Isles.”

Sett and Aphelios had agreed beforehand on what was okay to reveal and what was prudent to hold back, and both are relieved when no one immediately probes for further information about Alune.

“That is a most dangerous place,” the oldest priestess comments. “Even if one is gifted with divine magicks it is a place only of curses and death. It is no place for life.”

Everyone understands the implication that, even if they take these foreigners at their word and Aphelios is being guided to Hell itself, even if Diana _was_ there at _some_ point, her soul has likely been condemned to a haunted eternity in Purgatory, of no use to anyone anymore, much less capable of saving the Lunari.

“But you guys keep a barrier up, right? That contains the Mist? We came to you, ‘cause we’ve heard that your priesthood has magic that protects you while you guys keep the barrier beacons lit. That true? That’s all Aphelios is askin’ for, just something to keep the worst off us while we look around the place.”

Sett’s statement is met with reluctant silence, the four underlings looking to the head priest, deferring to his judgement whether they will reveal the secrets of their religion and sacred duties to outsiders. At length, the head priest does speak, answering Sett’s questions with a question of his own, but looking directly into Aphelios’ eyes as he asks it.

“You. Why are you mute?”

Intuition guides Aphelios, and he understands the question is not intended to be rude, and it’s not casual curiosity, either. It is a test. He turns to Sett and signs his permission for the Vastayan to provide the full, honest explanation, something they had hoped to keep secret.

Sett takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts, making sure he chooses every word carefully, trusting that Aphelios has a good reason why he wants this revealed.

“There’s a flower, only blooms in very few locations in Targon. Aphelios grows it and turns it into a drink, ‘cause it has a lotta power… it lets him open as a conduit for his sister, the one I mentioned earlier. She’s currently in the spirit realm.”

Sett pauses, letting the weight of that statement settle in. Aphelios is clearly a mortal human, and so all in the room understand the implications of his equally human sister residing across the veil.

“So, this connection lets her guide him, she can even give him supernatural weapons when he needs them, but the flower is toxic. It’s a poison. Aphelios—” (Sett’s voice hitches minutely, unnoticed by everyone in the room except for the Lunari himself and the head priest) “—experiences terrible pain every time he takes it. ‘N one of the main side effects is that it tightens his throat so bad he can’t talk anymore. The damage is semi-permanent so even when he’s off the stuff, like now, he still can’t talk.”

The entire time Sett has been explaining this, the head priest has been scrutinizing Aphelios, but the young man steadfastly holds his gaze.

After what feels like a long silence, the holy man delivers his verdict.

“A true vessel of your faith, Aphelios.” His heavily accented voice becomes warm. “And a man of great strength of will. I can feel it from you, your devotion. And a man willing to give his voice for his God should be honoured, no matter what his religion.

“I sense from you that you are caught. Trapped in this search for this one you call the Aspect of the Moon. You, and your people, are unable to look to the future so long as you seek her. Your kind are still trying to outrun the past. The followers of Nagakabouros pursue movement, progress. If your God is showing you your future lies in the Shadow Isles, and your strength of will is sufficient that you will risk going there, then we will help you.”

There are some mildly scandalized murmurings that come from the other priest and priestesses, but they are said in Buhruan and seem to be dismissed with a hand held firmly in the air by the head priest.

“Of course, you must still pay,” he specifies genially, making it clear this is now open for (some) negotiation. Sett and Aphelios nod quicky, Kirin remains stock-still where he is standing by the door like it’s his entrance to guard.

“And while we will afford you as much holy water as you should need for a day’s time in the Shadow Isles, you will be limited to one boat and one Buhru guide, and the guide must volunteer of their own free will.”

Sett is about to object to such a stingy allocation, but he catches sight of Aphelios already nodding and decides to go along with it, to not cause a pointless fuss.

“Well, I guess here’s hopin’ someone volunteers,” is all the passive aggression Sett allows himself. His obvious subtext is _so if no one wants to do it, we’re just fucked?_ but he also knows the answer is pretty obviously _yes_.

The Vastayan’s attention is pulled by Aphelios who signs a question for Sett to translate for the priest.

“He’s askin’ if we gotta wait for when you guys do the beacon ritual, which I guess is only every few months, yeah? Or can we get this taken care of sooner rather than later?”

“That depends entirely on the will of the one who volunteers,” the priest stipulates. “Once the agreement is formed, the Temple will have no further involvement, Aphelios and his guide may do as they decide—oh, but there is one more condition, as you may suspect from my deliberate language.

“You are the only one we will protect and guide.” This is spoken directly to Aphelios, and the priest’s gaze is so intense that for a moment it feels as if it’s only the Lunari and the kraken priest in the room. But the intensity clears and the leader speaks for the benefit of all once more. “You are all welcome to stay on Buhru as Aphelios completes his task—”

“Hey now, if we’re payin’ then we should—” Sett is interrupted by a firm, black-gloved hand on his arm. Sett doesn’t want to disrespect Aphelios by arguing with him or undermining him in front the Temple leaders, so he reluctantly swallows his words and tries to shove away the intense fear that’s suddenly reared its head.

He’ll be here, stuck waiting for Aphelios as his lover travels into the most dangerous place in Runeterra, unable to help keep him safe with his own hands or strength. It is so contradictory to how Sett wants to protect his loved ones that he runs the real risk of causing trouble and starting shit… especially when he hears the younger priestess with the harsh face say ‘that red one would be just another fool for the sea to swallow’ loud enough and in the common tongue so it’s clear she intended for Sett to overhear.

The head priest had watched the little exchange between Sett and Aphelios with the subtle tint of amusement in his expression, and so Sett assumes that when the man opens his mouth to speak again it’s going to be some shitty comment related to that and so he’s ready with his hair-trigger temper, but instead, the priest shocks Sett with a non-sequitur directed specifically at him.

“You, my friend, are still caught in the past too.” Sett is already irritated enough that he’s just about to open his mouth to ask exactly what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but the priest continues with a smile and something like paternal fondness in his voice. Either that or he’s an expert at benign condescension, and Sett can’t tell. “It is different than your _friend_ here, with the past of his people on his shoulders. Your burden is private and yet it has shaped your entire future.”

Suddenly, and Sett doesn’t know where it comes from, the image of his absentee father flashes in his mind’s eye. Or, more accurately, the blurred, indistinct outline of a father figure, gone from his son’s life too early for his face to be remembered.

This produces an immediate tumult of emotions, not least of which is rage at this kraken fuckhead seemingly trying to provoke him in front of others like this (if provocation was truly his intention), but once again Sett is grounded by the solid, kind pressure of Aphelios’ hand, this time on his thigh, hidden from the others by the table they are sitting at. Sett calms. At least, enough that he restrains himself, and responds with silence.

“Excellent,” the head priest announces cryptically, standing with a grin like something extremely funny has just happened. “You may return tomorrow, when I will inform you if any of our people are willing to accept this role. In the meantime, you may coordinate your non-refundable donation of, oh, let’s say 100,000 golden krakens. That sum should be pleasing to Nagakabouros, and you gentlemen will be needing her blessing.”

All of a sudden Sett decides that he really hates this snake worshipping prick and is _yet again_ about to start a kerfuffle over his perceived disrespect, when he catches sight of the clear worry on Aphelios’ face. Sett realizes that his lover can obviously read that he’s upset, but with sudden clarity the Vastayan guesses that Phel is probably assuming that Sett is upset over the price; that it’s far too much, just as the Lunari had been afraid of.

Instantly, Sett smoothes his temper and begins smirking. “’N here we were thinkin’ somethin’ more like 125,000 krakens, considerin’ how important that _blessing_ is ‘n all. Wouldn’t wanna be stingy with a god.”

Aphelios looks like he’s going to faint, but the beast-man is too busy staring daggers at the head priest, trying to psychically transmit that a) Sett is filthy rich and it’s not like some dogshit tithe is going to bankrupt him and b) that the Buhru better give him his money’s worth and make sure that his boyfriend is returned safe and sound, with soul completely intact and distinctly _not_ trapped in some bullshit shadow realm or something.

The other merely responds with another knowing smile, and Sett can’t help but feel like somehow he’s just proved the priest’s point even though the holy man never made one.

It is the other male priest who begins to fawn, his frigidity instantly discarded in the face of Sett’s wealth. “Mother Serpent will most assuredly be pleased with such generosity, perhaps you gentlemen would like to be shown to the finest establishments on our beautiful island…”

The man is still talking despite no one listening as all rise from the table, filing out of the mosaiced meeting room and back into the Temple proper. It’s a gorgeous structure with little that is truly closed off against the fresh air; many rooms are merely demarcated by sets of pillars and the ocean is visible from nearly everywhere inside. Every inch of its walls are decorated in motifs of the sea and the creatures that dwell therein, and the tiled designs of the tentacles of Nagakabouros stretch across it all. Sett supposes he likes this place better than Bilgewater Bay, were he to give it much of a second thought at all, but he’s preoccupied with his sour mood and crankily wondering why he’d think of his piece of shit dad, now, of all times.

Aphelios on the other hand marvels at the structure, able to enjoy it more now that their business has been settled and, provided even one single soul is willing, knowing he will have protection magic when he ventures into the Shadow Isles. It’s already a huge weight off his shoulders.

As he admires the airiness and vibrancy of the Temple, so completely opposite to the cold, dark enclosures of the Lunari, hewn into Mount Targon itself, he accidentally makes eye contact with a young woman, dressed in a much less fancy version of the robes of the Priesthood, who is supposed to be occupied with tending the flowering vines growing up some nearby plinths but is staring hard at the dark foreigner instead. When Aphelios meets her eyes she gets shy but doesn’t look away, instead smiling at him warmly and dipping her head covered in dark curls by way of greeting. Markedly more friendly than the indifference the outsiders have been treated with by the other Buhruans, and Aphelios thinks to himself how kind and sparkly her hazel eyes are as he decides to wave back to return the acknowledgement. But he’s already looking elsewhere as her face breaks out into a huge, gleeful grin, the smile radiating under blush-dusted cheeks.

* * *

It takes much longer than planned for the trio to take care of what they need to, especially with hours lost to the task of finding a financial establishment that is willing and able to convert Sett’s Ionian currency into such a huge amount of golden krakens on such short notice. By the time they have finished giving the tithe and finding a bite to eat, it is too late to hire rooms at an inn and so Sett and Aphelios reluctantly return to the ship to spend another cramped night, while Kirin volunteers to stay on land and keep an ear to the ground. It’s highly unlikely that he’ll learn or see anything of much use, but it’s been a decade since he was last in Buhru and simply gleans pleasure from knowledge gathering like this, even if it is aimless.

Sett’s mood is markedly rotten as he and Aphelios ready for bed and try to navigate around each other, bumping limbs or getting in each other’s way more often than not in the small cabin Sett had insisted they share, even though it’s hardly meant for two, let alone for a pair of men so tall and broad-shouldered. The fourth time Sett hits his head on the ceiling he howls a chain of profanity and though Aphelios has to remind him as nicely as he can to keep his voice down, the Lunari’s face is full of understanding.

_Want a backrub?_

Instantly feeling silly for his little tantrum, especially when it’s in front of Aphelios who remains so placid, Sett softens and nods his head, not realizing that he is still wearing a hilarious, childish pout (which Aphelios happens to find extremely cute, not that he would ever point it out to his boyfriend).

Finishing washing his face at the still-water basin and undressing to his underwear, Aphelios climbs on top to sit astride of Sett who’s already lying face down on the rickety bed. One thing Aphelios came to understand fairly quickly about the Vastayan was that he was very sensitive to touch; the wrong person bumping into him would ignite his temper instantly, whereas touching or being touched by someone he cared for was one of the most effective ways to soothe the beast-man. And so Aphelios always tries to make a point of offering ready caresses whenever Sett is in a bad mood, and it had not escaped the Lunari’s attention that something had been upsetting the other since the meeting with the kraken priests.

“How do you feel about today?” Aphelios asks, strained voice hardly better than a whisper. But off the noctum for so long and alone with Sett like this, a little bit of quiet use doesn’t hurt his throat.

Sett _hmphs_ , but the Lunari can already feel a little of the wound-up tightness leaving the beast-man’s muscles as he massages with gentle pressure.

“That one fuckin’ lady was buggin’ the shit out of me,” Sett grumbles, readily accepting the chance to complain about the myriad things that had irritated him. “The one who said I’d just drown if I came along. I fuckin’ hate people like that, and I could tell somethin’ crawled up her ass the moment she laid eyes on me. You’d think none of them’d ever seen a Vastaya before, but you’re tellin’ me that in this place so close to Ixtal, with all the freaky shit that comes out of those jungles, that _I’m_ that fuckin’ strange? And I ain’t even full! Imagine if I had claws or a tail, those fuckers probably wouldn’t even have talked to me. It’s bullshit.”

Aphelios leans forward to nestle a kiss in Sett’s thick red hair, to let him know he’s listening and that he is lovable and handsome and certainly neither strange nor a freak. The Vastayan lets out a little sound, not quite a mewl, and already his frustration is nearly gone, but he continues. Because, as Aphelios has rightly surmised, something had upset him much more deeply than dealing with run of the mill disrespect, it’s just going to take a while for Sett to get there.

“And that prick at the bank, makin’ us wait around for over an hour while he ‘looked into what he could do.’ My fuckin’ ass. Dude probably went for a fuckin’ lunch break or somethin’ ‘cause he knew he could get away with jerkin’ us around. Really fucked up our schedule, too. And now we’re stuck back on this shitty boat where we gotta _be quiet_ and there ain’t even enough room to stand up straight.”

Lengthening his strokes and slowing his pace and adding a little more pressure, Aphelios tries to set an emotional ‘pace’ with his touches. He hopes that slow, deliberate movements will translate into a total de-escalation for Sett, allowing the older man to relax and release.

It works, and when Sett speaks again his tone has lost most of its vehemence, transmuting into candid vulnerability.

“That head priest guy too… I dunno what his problem was, either. Though, I will say I was real relieved that he seemed to like you so much. But I really didn’t get what he said about me bein’ stuck in the past.”

Aphelios takes his hands away as Sett shifts under him, flipping over so he can make eye contact with the Lunari and hold him by the waist while they talk about this. Aphelios staying on top works better anyway, the bed too small to permit much distance when they are side by side, though he still grazes his fingertips along Sett’s stomach as a way to help keep the other feeling grounded.

“Like… I been thinkin’ about it, a lot. I still don’t know what he meant or how the fuck he could know, but it made me think of my dad. I guess you could say my whole career was built on chasin’ after that pile of shit, but it’s mine now. This is _my_ life. It made me feel fuckin’ awful, thinkin’ that some shit I had no control over that happened when I was fuckin’ four is gonna determine the rest of how I live… drives me even crazier tryin’ to figure out how a total fuckin’ stranger who probably gets off on thinkin’ about suckin’ that kraken god’s tentacles could fuck me up like he did.”

Aphelios nods, leans forward to press another kiss this time to Sett’s cheek, always proud and feeling privileged when Sett is able to talk so openly about his deepest feelings like this with him. Though the mental imagery of the head priest hot-cheeked and slobbering over Nagakaborous is sufficient that the Lunari can’t suppress a little chuckle and smile.

“You know I’m right,” Sett grins back, clearly feeling unburdened. “Dude probably gets a raging hard-on every time he sees a fuckin’ octopus.”

Both are giggling now, Aphelios’ soft laughter is the sweetest music to Sett’s ears, healing his heart and soul.

The mirth continues, Sett thanking Aphelios for the backrub and offering to repay him with a nice long ass massage (the suggestion is punctuated by Sett grabbing a sudden handful and Aphelios tickling him in retaliation), until Sett quiets suddenly, sullen once more but in a different way than when he was ruminating on just a shitty day.

With earnestness, he reaches for one of Aphelios’ hands, holding it like it’s a lifeline.

“Mooncake… you really think everything’ll turn out okay? You think someone is gonna agree to protect you? I really hope so… gonna be hard to wait for tomorrow to find out one way or the other…”

Aphelios stoops again, almost laying flush against his boyfriend, pulling his hand from Sett’s so he can cup his tanned cheek instead, gazing down into golden eyes that are brimming with emotion.

“My orbit won’t end in the Shadow Isles,” he promises in a murmur. “And I will be guided by the Moon.”

Somber, Sett closes his eyes and leans into his boyfriend’s touch. “Yeah… but… can’t believe I won’t be able to come with ya… I just wanna feel like I can keep you safe with my own two hands. Even though I know ya can handle yourself, I mean you survived bein’…”

Sett trails off abruptly and his eyes snap back open. The beast-man had not meant to bring up Aphelios’ kidnapping, but the allusion hangs in the air even though the sentence remains unfinished. Sett shifts uncomfortably, because he assumes that Aphelios is still not ready to discuss it yet, especially given the last time Sett broached the subject, the Lunari shut it down firmly. When Aphelios pulls away and sits up straight, Sett is sure he’s fucked up, and his heart sinks as he admonishes himself for ruining the moment by speaking without thinking it through first.

But the Lunari’s body language is still open and willing, he has no intention of shutting Sett out again. He’s ready.

 _Do you want me to tell you what happened?_ he signs so as not to overuse his voice, and the Vastayan realizes with profound relief that Aphelios had only moved away merely to create room so he can move his hands.

“Only if ya feel ready to tell me,” Sett’s words belie the intense desire to know, a need he’s struggled to cope with since the day Aphelios came to him, soaked in the stench of death and looking like something in him had shattered.

Aphelios nods and prefaces the explanation with some context, which all of a sudden makes Sett wonder if part of what he had assumed snapped within the Lunari wasn’t something better off lost, anyway.

_I want you to listen and know that I don’t regret what happened, or the outcome. Not anymore. I don’t think I ever did. So don’t feel sorry for me, okay?_

With little hesitation, and with Sett absent-mindedly running his hands up and down the Lunari’s thighs, Aphelios recounts what occurred just under a week ago; how he’d realized too late he was being followed, that he’d woken from being knocked unconscious by someone cutting off a piece of his hair, understanding that his kidnappers intended to ransom him.

_I could have waited for an out. They bested me while I was unsuspecting and distracted, but without those two advantages, they were nothing. Once I cut myself loose I probably could have escaped, and even if that weren’t the case, there was a point when about half of them were trying to run from me. And I asked for Calibrum instead of letting them go._

Sett stares into Aphelios’ face, noting the clarity and lively intelligence in his violet eyes, beautiful qualities so hard to see when the noctum obscures them. He can’t detect a hint of distress or conflicted regret there, it’s so unlike the storm that’s raging in Sett’s heart and belly when he imagines what the Lunari went through. He stays silent, waiting patiently for Aphelios to finish, though he continues to caress the tattooed and scarred skin of Aphelios’ legs; even with the other still straddling him like this there is no sexiness in the caresses, only compassionate love. And though the touches are intended to comfort Phel, it’s doing far more to soothe the Vastayan so he can let his boyfriend finish without interrupting him by flipping out.

_I scared Alune that day. At least, I’m pretty sure I did. I could feel how taken aback she was when she understood I just wanted them all dead. She tried to talk me out of burning down their hideout. She’s never tried to prevent me from killing before, sometimes she’s the one who has to talk me into it. But she was scared because she felt that I was killing out of rage. For personal vengeance. It wasn’t that she wanted to save their lives, she wanted to save me from making a mistake I would regret._

_But like I told you, I don’t regret it at all. And now I understand why._

_They tried to use me as a weapon against you. Just more people who thought of me as a thing, some kind of object they could use for their own ends. I know that’s how you see what the Lunari do to me, and… you’re not wrong. But at least I am a part of their purpose, at least I choose to be a servant of the Moon. But when it came to those kidnappers, how objectified I felt, I wanted to punish them for it. I am not a prize. I am not a weapon._

Aphelios gazes back, something reminiscent of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, although it’s non-committal and the first sign of uncertainty he’s demonstrated during his explanation.

 _…Does that make sense?_ he checks, a little shyly.

Sett isn’t one given to tears, although he sees nothing wrong with crying.

But he feels awfully close to crying, now.

He sits up and shoves his head against Aphelios’ chest, wrapping his arms around his white torso and pulling him into a crushing embrace, and Aphelios follows suit, holding the Vastayan to him and giving off a soft little exhalation, a sound full of fondness. Sett is a bit too large for Aphelios to ever truly feel like he can hold all of him, but he loves it when the beast-man wants him to try.

He also decides that he will never tell Sett the other half of his motivation for perpetrating the massacre by himself, dirtying his own hands—he had not wanted Sett to have to bloody his when Aphelios left the work undone.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you bunny,” Sett says thickly, voice tremulous and muffled from where it’s being spoken into Phel’s chest. “Of _course_ it makes sense. It’s what I’ve been waitin’ for you to understand but… I guess you have understood all along… I just…”

Sett needs a moment, especially when Aphelios reaches up to pet one of his ears, before continuing.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Phel. You carry shit on your shoulders and I don’t think I understand half of how heavy it is for ya. And then here ya are, helping me with my burdens…

“I am so lucky. Thanks for bein’ willin’ to tell me what you went through. I admire ya so much, mooncake. You don’t need my help, you probably don’t need any help to beat the Shadow Isles, they’re no match for ya… you really are the strongest person I know.”

Aphelios smiles as Sett begins repeating himself, gently lifting the Vastayan’s head so he can see him signing.

_Silly. Where do you think most of that strength even comes from?_

Sett’s face scrunches, his pointy teeth showing as he grimaces; the closest he’s been to weeping in years.

But there’s no time for maudlin tears, because Aphelios’ mouth is already on his and the Lunari has firmed his embrace around his boyfriend, pulling him close, clutching at his shoulders. Sett’s never been one to need much time to switch gears and now, Aphelios straddling his waist _does_ feel very sexy, and the tearful, sentimental expression of Sett’s love is fully transformed into lustful ardour.

 _Remember to be quiet_ , Aphelios instructs his boyfriend hurriedly before pressing him down back onto the bed for more messy kisses.

“Yes Boss,” Sett jokes. “Any other rules ya got for me?”

Aphelios gives a snort of laughter and sits up again to say _don’t cum inside this time. It’ll be too much of a pain to clean up with no bath._

“Yes Boss.” Sett seems to be leaning into the role reversal and is grinning, presumably at his own humour.

But perhaps that one little syllable— _Boss_ —spoken so soon after Aphelios has shared how he reconnected with his sense of agency, of power, is a catalyst for something within the Lunari, and he gets an idea, one that makes him instantly rock-hard.

“Seems like you like that name as much as I do—” Sett is gently interrupted with a pale finger pressed to his lips, before it’s taken away to weave words.

_I have more rules._

“Oh?” Sett’s ears twitch and his pupils slit, conveying he is intensely interested.

_You tell me if you want to follow them._

Sett nods readily, he can’t imagine Aphelios wanting to do something that doesn’t also instantly appeal to him.

_No talking. No sounds from you at all._

Sett gulps and nods. He is usually freely vocal when they have sex. This will be an intriguing challenge.

 _No touching me. Only I can touch you_.

Oh, fuck. Sett is nodding but his heart is thrumming in his chest as he realizes Aphelios is about to start something Sett isn’t prepared for whatsoever and will likely be profoundly wrecked by, which he loves. Aphelios is so exciting.

_No moving at all. Just lie down and let me use you how I want._

Sett’s eyes practically turn heart-shaped, and his erection is already throbbing under his shorts at the prospect of this new game, but he is still touched when Aphelios breaks character for a moment.

_Is that all okay? If I do something you don’t like, just stop me—_

“Use me like your fuck doll Phel.” The ragged words rush out of Sett’s mouth before his brain can even process them, and he would feel embarrassed about them except there’s no room for that, not when Aphelios straightens, a regal look coming over him like he is the tyrant king of newly conquered territory.

 _Are you begging?_ The wicked smirk on Aphelios’ face is nearly enough to fracture Sett’s sanity, suddenly as fragile as it is.

Sett nods, his cheeks hot and ears lowered as an unconscious sign of submission.

 _Good boy,_ Aphelios signs before he guides Sett’s arms above his head, the intention to have them stay there just as immobile as if they were tied.

“Oh, fuck, Phel, don’t say shit like that you’re gonna make me burst—” 

“Shhh,” Aphelios commands and Sett thinks about how he’s already in trouble stamina-wise and their game has hardly begun.

Obediently, Sett clamps his mouth shut, biting his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood, though the slight sting of the pain there only intensifies the hot arousal filling his body with such power it borders on inebriation. He lasts about three seconds of Phel kissing his neck before he breaks two rules at once: he whines like groveling puppy and moves his arms up a little so he can grip the bed frame because he’s going crazy being so still with nothing to hold onto.

Aphelios immediately sits up again, with that same imperious look on his face that’s turning Sett’s brain to goo.

 _Bad boy_ , he signs with a devious grin. _You get your first punishment for breaking my rules._

The first stage of punishment turns out to be the Lunari torturing Sett’s nipples, tweaking and sucking and nibbling until they are swollen and sensitive to mere air, which Aphelios seems to be completely aware of as he alternates enclosing them in the wet heat of his mouth before letting them go just to blow on them. It takes every iota of Sett’s willpower not to squirm so as to break the rules yet again, and he distantly registers gratitude that Aphelios doesn’t seem to be counting his heavy panting barely less than a moan as a violation of the silence... although truth be told he’d consider himself a lucky man to explore all the myriad ‘punishments’ his boyfriend is interested in doling out.

Actually, it’s hard to discern what counts as punishment and what doesn’t, because it’s also sublime torture when Aphelios stands in deliberate full view of Sett to remove his underwear, the ‘no touching’ rule suddenly seeming like it’s going to be the hardest one to observe. Soon Aphelios is back atop Sett, rubbing his hard cock against Sett’s erection, the barrier of Sett’s shorts already soaked with the Vastayan’s pre-cum and infuriatingly tantalizing; Sett imagining the fabric gone and the friction of their arousal together is almost as intoxicating as the real thing, one of the things the beast-man loves the most is the simple feeling of his cock pressed against the taut skin of Phel’s stomach.

Although he is trying his best to be obedient, Sett soon breaks the ‘no noise’ rule again, but it’s all Aphelios’ fault because he’s sat up again, playing with his own nipple as he touches himself with a purposefully low trajectory so that his tip presses more often than not into Sett’s own hardness, his knuckles brushing the Vastayan enough that he twitches, but not even close to the pressure Sett wants on his dick right now.

Sett moans too loudly, and Aphelios immediately stops pleasuring himself, climbing off of Sett’s hips, and the beast-man swallows hard as he understands this punishment will be especially crazy-making.

 _Very bad boy_ , is all Aphelios signs before he dives down, mouthing the outline of Sett’s hard-on through the cloth, thin enough that Sett can feel the heat of his breath through it but obstruction enough that the Vastayan thinks he will literally _die_ if Aphelios isn’t merciful enough to give him skin to skin contact (or skin to tongue, in this case) within the next ten seconds.

Luckily for Sett, the moment before he breaks all of the rules at once (what kind of punishment would that merit?) Aphelios tugs at the waist of the shorts, guiding them down Sett’s legs and discarding them in a heap on the floor. Again, Sett bites his lip in an earnest effort not to cry out or swear or moan again the instant he feels Phel’s tongue on him.

But this is more ‘cruelty,’ because despite becoming a quick expert on oral sex during their relationship, Aphelios is languidly lapping at Sett’s tip as if he has absolutely no intention of putting Sett in his mouth like the Vastayan is praying simultaneously that he both does and does not; if Aphelios deep-throats him now while his dick is so hard it’s already about to bust then Sett will probably cum right then and there, and the beast-man is still deliriously anticipating Phel fucking himself on Sett’s cock like he’s hoping is the plan.

He’s hoping for it hard enough that when the Lunari _does_ put him in his mouth, Sett can’t help but cry out.

“No, I’ll cum—”

Instantly, Aphelios stops, releasing Sett’s cock and looking down at his boyfriend with the most diabolical expression yet.

 _Someone seems to enjoy being punished._ Sett feels like a (willing) sacrifice, laid out on the altar before a powerful deity. And, fitting an omnipotent god, Aphelios looks like he is ready to devour Sett whole.

He says as much.

_I want to eat you. Not the usual way. The other way._

Sett nearly passes out.

 _Will you let me?_ … _You can speak for this._

Sett gulps. Before meeting Aphelios, he’d never had much interest in another person going near his ass, though there were a few rare occasions, namely when he was drunk, where it had happened, such as the prostate orgasm he’d received from the Noxian prostitute who’d really known what she was doing. But the idea of Aphelios thinking of this, wanting it, suggesting it on his own… Sett is overcome with a voracious craving for it.

“Yes, please… please, eat me… I want it so bad…”

Aphelios smiles approvingly, resuming his kingly mannerisms as he tells Sett once again that he’s a _good boy_.

The rules back in force, Sett doesn’t move unless it’s under Aphelios’ guiding touch, he follows as the Lunari molds him into a position on all fours on the bed, filled with nervous excitement and again worried he’d going to blow his load prematurely. Then, there’s a pause as Aphelios reconsiders a little, looking at Sett pensively before he exerts pressure with a gentle hand on Sett’s head. It’s his intention that Sett lay his head against the bed, get his ass even higher in the air, and as the Vastayan eagerly obliges he thinks about how he can’t ever remember letting anyone else see him in such a position. Aphelios rewards his trust with a pleased hum.

Either the sheets swallow enough of the guttural moan that spills from Sett’s mouth that it’s not loud enough to merit a rule break, or Aphelios has generously decided to extend his boyfriend one free pass, but either way the Vastayan is unable to keep quiet as he feels Aphelios’s mouth against his entrance. Most surprising of all is how little hesitation there is in the Lunari’s ministrations; it’s like he’s fantasized about doing this for months and isn’t going to hold back at all, now that the moment is finally here.

Slightly less surprising but still unexpected for the Vastayan is how fucking _amazing_ it feels.

He can feel the strength of Aphelios’ grip as his hands clutch at flesh of his toned ass, pulling him harder against the Lunari’s insistent, dexterous tongue. Sett’s eyes roll back in his head when, helped by the stretch of the position, Phel’s tongue slides in easily and penetrating his boyfriend like this for the first time causes Aphelios such heady bliss that his voice sparks to life and Sett can feel the vibrations of his moans as if they are shivering through his guts and up his spine, every system in Sett’s body reconfiguring to harmonize with humming of his lover’s voice.

And the result of the harmony is this—every system in Sett’s body also begins to wonder what it would feel like to have Aphelios inside _him_.

Though the seed of the fantasy is planted, tonight is not the night it will come to bloom, and Sett’s brain is already helplessly and uselessly trying to cope with the sheer height of his arousal while balancing how desperately he still wants to obey the rules of his beloved’s game as Aphelios pulls away and with strength befitting a highly-trained assassin, reconfigures his boyfriend so Sett is back on his back, so erect it hurts, so turned on he’s drooling.

 _You taste so good. Now, open your mouth_.

Sett obeys automatically and opens his mouth, and Aphelios penetrates him for the second time that night as he slides his white fingers inside, coating them in Sett’s saliva.

 _Remember you’re only allowed to watch, not touch_.

This rule nearly unravels Sett, who, as he watches Aphelios open himself with his fingers, is going insane with the desire to touch, to stretch the Lunari himself.

Instead, he subsists on taking in every inch Aphelios visually; how long his gorgeous legs are, one hanging off the edge of the bed, the haziness in his violet eyes as he pleasures himself, the way Sett can see how the soft, smooth slopes of the muscles on his torso suddenly turn hard, showing in sharp relief whenever Aphelios inadvertently flexes them as he exhales harshly or moans.

Aphelios is the most beautiful sight Sett has ever seen.

All of a sudden, the moment is here and Sett is so hormone addled that he hardly has the functioning brain cells to understand what Aphelios is reaching for, what’s coating his palms, until the Lunari’s hands are all over his dick, pumping and slicking him with lubricant. Comprehending that Aphelios is about to climb on top of him, Sett sends up a little prayer (mostly to himself) that he’ll be able to hold on so he can witness Aphelios climax after he’s used Sett’s body like it was his sex toy.

Impressively, Sett bites down on the sound that was about to tear from his throat, stifling it and hearing all of Aphelios’ own vocal euphoria as every inch of the Vastayan slides inside instead.

The little prayer, sent up again. But Sett suspects he is doomed.

Because it’s not so much Aphelios taking charge like this, using the beast-man as if the entirety of his incredible body is an object hewn for the sole sake of the Lunari’s pleasure, although of course this aspect is also immensely, indescribably sexy to Sett. It’s more watching how readily Aphelios is taking pleasure for himself, the essential role only Sett has been given in helping the Lunari be ‘selfish,’ how this man who has spent years being denied comforts, spent years in solitary, joyless devotion… this is the man utterly losing himself to the ecstasy that being filled with all of Sett gives him.

Yes, Sett is doomed… he’s already shining with sweat from the exerted determination not to cum, especially because Aphelios _specifically instructed_ him not to blow up inside, but it’s so fucking difficult as Aphelios picks up both of Sett’s hands from where they were laying by his side, intertwining their fingers and using Sett’s arms as a prop so he can lift himself higher and fuck Sett that much harder.

“…Good boy,” Aphelios says aloud, and Sett is lost.

He erupts with such force and quantity that Aphelios jolts from the shock of it hitting his insides, he’s never been able to feel it against his walls before.

Sett is just about to slur a desperate apology when he is interrupted by hot ropes of cum spurting onto his stomach, Aphelios needing only a few strokes with his hand to reach orgasm himself.

It takes a while for both of them to recover, Aphelios supporting himself on wobbly arms, hovering over top the Vastayan and letting Sett soften inside him because he doesn’t have the strength to get off in a way that won’t mess the sheets. But it’s a fool’s errand because Sett has filled Phel with so much it’s already leaking out, neither of them terribly bothered by it because the situation is just too sexy.

At length Aphelios does clamber off his boyfriend, muttering as he goes over to the wash basin, tossing a towel at Sett who’s still melted on the bed.

“I think you broke every single rule,” Aphelios says, but the contended lilt of his exquisitely accented voice conveys that he’s not even remotely upset about it.

“Hey, not _every_ single one,” Sett pouts. “I never touched ya first, you were the one touchin’ me.”

The Lunari brings his hand to his chin, pretending like he has to think about it hard. His reply is a longer sentence, so he signs: _fair enough. But it negates, because I gave you a free pass when you practically screamed as I ate you. No doubt the entire ship heard that._

Sett reddens, mumbling about how he wasn’t _that_ loud as he wipes the wetness off his stomach and groin. After poor Aphelios, who has a strong preference for feeling clean, finally finishes struggling to sop up the mess Sett made, he rejoins his lover on the disheveled bed, Sett automatically opening his arms to invite the smaller man in for cuddles.

It takes a bit for Sett to gather the courage—although he doesn’t really understand why he’s so nervous—and to sort out his frazzled thoughts, but eventually he poses a shy question.

“Hey, Phel… would you, uh… would you ever wanna do that again?”

 _What part?_ Aphelios asks back with glittering eyes. It makes Sett wonder if he is genuinely asking, or if he just wants to hear the Vastayan say it out loud.

“Well, all of it, I guess. ‘Specially the rules.”

Aphelios smiles and pulls the beast-man’s jaw down with two fingertips, bringing him close so he can kiss his cheek.

 _Of course. I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did._ Aphelios plants another kiss on the corner of Sett’s mouth before turning to douse the oil lamp, cloaking the room in darkness.

“I love you,” Aphelios says as he pulls the blanket over them and slots himself back into the larger man’s embrace, readying for sleep.

“Love ya more, bunny,” Sett replies, convinced it’s true, even as the Lunari thinks to himself how it’s not.

The Vastayan naturally assumes that it’s time to sleep, and so he settles in quietly, trying to relax into slumber, which isn’t all that hard considering how physically spent he feels after such intense arousal. But after a few minutes Aphelios breaks the silence, using his voice which is already getting a little scratchy, because Sett won’t be able to read his signs in the dark.

“Sett,” he starts, so much more tentative than when he was discussing sex earlier. “Can we talk about one more thing?”

Sett shifts towards Aphelios, sure to let the other know he is awake and fully aware. Something about the younger man’s trepidation has the Vastayan worried. “Sure, sweetheart. Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” Aphelios clarifies softly, dropping his strained voice to just above a whisper, so it doesn’t go hoarse while he still needs it. “There’s another thing that we haven’t talked about properly. You… you tried to bring it up but it was while I was still on the noctum…”

Sett thinks back to the talk they had on his porch, and he suddenly knows exactly what the Lunari is referring to. It’s something that Sett had berated himself over—bringing up the topic of marriage of all things—behaving like an obtuse oaf when Aphelios was so clearly exhausted and still reeling from his kidnapping ordeal.

Sett grunts. The memory of that terrible day is imprinted so strongly on his heart that he can’t help but conflate Aphelios referring to it with more bad news, even though it would hardly make sense for the Lunari to wait until now, especially after sex like that, to drop some kind of unexpected bomb. “I think I know what ya mean… you talkin’ about what I said… ‘bout gettin’ married?”

Instead of responding immediately, Aphelios hoists himself up a little, getting closer to Sett’s ears even though the Vastayan could already hear him just fine, his hand swimming through the blankets until he finds one of Sett’s, grabbing onto it and holding it firmly.

“Marry me, Settrigh.”

Sett jolts upright, lucky he doesn’t collide with Aphelios’ face on the way up, pulling the Lunari with him and gripping his hand back with such fervour it’s almost painful.

“What did you say?” Sett demands redundantly. He knows exactly what Aphelios just said.

“…Marry me, Settrigh,” Aphelios repeats, reaching out in the dark to find Sett’s chest, placing his hand over where he can feel the Vastayan’s heart pounding.

“There will never be a good time for us,” he continues as Sett gathers his scattered, racing thoughts. “If I survive the Shadow Isles… like I told you I will have to return to Targon for a while…”

He’s interrupted by coughing, his voice nearing its limit even though it still has such important words to speak. Sett hangs on every sound.

“…but if I survive and if I am able to come back… will you marry me? I want to be your husband. Whatever happens to me, I want you to know that’s how I feel about you.”

Aphelios can’t see how Sett’s ears go rigid, how his whole face contorts as he is utterly overcome with emotion, with love. And it’s unfortunate he can’t see it, because it’s all the more confusing when Sett doesn’t answer him and instead dashes from the bed, knocking into something loudly before locating his luggage and ruffling through it.

The Lunari waits on the bed, completely bewildered and getting a little worried as he listens to the sounds of Sett trying and failing to find something, the Vastayan cursing under his breath before he ignites his magic over his fists, using them as an impromptu light. Whatever it is he was looking for he seems to find, and he rushes back to the bedside, kneeling, though by the time he is there his whole body is alight with faintly glowing magic and now it seems like Sett doesn’t mean for it to be flaring, he’s just too excited to contain it.

“Marry me, Phel,” Sett says as he presents an outstretched palm, and within the golden flickers Aphelios can see a thin silver ring, sparkling. “Bunny, I been carryin’ this thing around since I bought it, which was just after our first time together, over a year ago I guess now, ‘cause back then I already knew how I felt about ya, I’ve always been ready, but I been waitin’ for the right time and every time you visited it felt like you had to head back out as soon as you came and there just wasn’t enough time to…”

Sett trails off as he realizes he’s blabbering, hasn’t even given Aphelios a chance to react, much less answer.

“No fair,” Aphelios murmurs and in the glow coming off of Sett, the Vastayan can see how the Lunari is smiling, how his eyes are brimming. “I asked you first.”

Sett freezes, bashful, realizing how carried away he’s just gotten. He softens and chuckles, hastily relighting the oil lamp before letting his magic dissipate, only now realizing he is still naked.

“Uh, should I put some shorts on before I answer?” He grins and Aphelios bursts into laughter, although the wonderful sound is soon lost to coughing.

Sett locates some clean shorts and then comes back to kneel once more at the bedside, Aphelios on the edge of the mattress and swathed in the crumpled blanket. Certainly not a picture-perfect moment, but neither of them can imagine it possibly being any better.

The Vastayan is just about to give his (obvious) answer when Aphelios gently stops him, sudden worry clouding his features.

_Sett, if I return to Targon… I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be able to come back. You know that I would die trying to return to you, but… I cannot make you any promises. It’s not fair to you. If you give me that ring now, who knows how long you will have to wait. I don’t want you to go through that. It’s better if we wait until I know I can come back._

Heart palpitating painfully at the melancholic resignation on Aphelios’ face, Sett seizes the Lunari’s hands with one of his when he’s done signing.

“Bunny, first of all, don’t go sayin’ shit like ‘if you survive’ or ‘if you can come back.’ You’re gonna make it through the Shadow Isles, no matter what, and, even if those crazy Lunari try and chain you up and keep ya there, you think I won’t be the one breakin’ Mount Targon itself into fuckin’ gravel until they give ya back?”

Sett gives Aphelios a cocksure grin and Aphelios smiles back.

“’N you think I’d care about waitin’? I mean—I do, I hate it when I can’t see ya—but you’re talkin’ like you ain’t the only person in Runeterra that I ever wanna be with. It’s you, Phel. It’s only you, and it’s only ever gonna be you.”

Aphelios lasts only a moment before his face scrunches cutely and he lets himself fall forward, burying his face in the crook of Sett’s neck, and it’s not long before Sett can feel hot tears trickling across his skin. But there was something minute in his expression, something that Sett would have missed if he didn’t know the other quite so well, that gives the Vastayan pause. He puts two and two together and realizes that Aphelios was likely very intentional with his word choice.

_If._

“Sweetheart…” he purrs in a low tone, trying to comfort his lover while he embraces him. “You scared ‘bout what they’re gonna say tomorrow? Like if no one volunteers?”

A delay, and then Sett feels Aphelios nod against his shoulder as he sniffles.

Once more Sett feels a crack of pain splitting in his heart. “Me too, bunny. Me too.”

But Sett also understands that this is not entirely his burden, try as he might to make it his. And, just earlier, Aphelios had told him that Sett was the one who gave him strength. And so, pulling himself together, he coos more soothing words, petting Aphelios’ back affectionately as he does.

“It _is_ scary but… I really do believe you’ll be okay. There’s gotta be one in that bunch willin’ to help out, and I can always sweeten the deal with a little bribe, until it all gets sorted. And when you go, you’ll have Alune with you, you’ll have protection magic, and I’m sure that if your Mother Moon is worth anythin’, she’ll be lookin’ out for ya too. After all, you’re her best, most talented, most handsome follower, right? What’s she gonna do without ya?”

With relief, Sett feels Aphelios shaking with a little laughter against him. He presses a chain of loving kisses into black hair, sensing now that Aphelios has been reassured. Hell, Sett’s even managed to reassure himself a little.

“’N Phel…” Sett continues, though now his own throat is tight and he’s struggling to keep his emotion contained, “’course I’ll marry ya. I’d’ve married ya forever ago. But look, now I biffed my chances ‘n you’re the one who gets to ask first.”

With gentle devotion infusing his touch, Sett lifts Aphelios away from him, using calloused thumbs to wipe away the wetness on white cheeks.

“I dunno know who decides it or how it works out this way, but I think you ‘n I were meant for each other.”

Aphelios breaks into a warm smile, and Sett thinks that he’s never seen the other more beautiful than he is in this moment, especially as he nods his agreement. Then, Phel’s smile turns impish.

_Are you really fine with waiting? You’re not that patient…_

“Hey! ‘Course I can wait! I’m plenty patient when I wanna be!”

Aphelios finds Sett pretending to be offended completely delightful.

_You sure? What if it’s so long that I come back old and grey? What if it’s so long you don’t even recognize me?_

Every once in a while, though he claims not to be a wordsmith, Sett says something and feels deep pride at having found the absolute perfect words.

“Don’t be silly,” he says gently, getting serious even though he knows Phel is teasing him. “I’d know you with a heartbeat.”

The Lunari isn’t prepared, and he looks near tears again when the words penetrate his heart and nestle deeply in his soul. The reality that this man truly wants to spend the rest of his life with him is nearly too wonderful to bear.

“Gimme your hand, bunny,” Sett holds out a massive, upturned palm, and Aphelios readily lays his left hand overtop, watching as Sett slips the shining band onto his ring finger. A muted shimmer catches his eye, and he holds his newly adorned hand closer to the light to see it properly. Inlaid flush with the slim metal band, the ring planned and custom designed so it will fit easily under gloves and won’t catch on anything, is an opalescent segment of a pale gem.

Aphelios looks back at Sett, flushed. “Moonstone?”

“’Course, sweetheart. Nothin’ else would’ve suited you better.”

Delighted, Aphelios lowers to sit himself into his lover’s lap, pulling Sett in a tight hug before taking his face between both of his hands and covering scarred skin with kisses.

“I love it so much,” he says, as he turns around to be little spoon, holding out his hand so they can both look at his long, willowy fingers, one now encircled in a symbol of how deeply he is adored.

“Now that I finally got to give it to ya, I feel like I’m on top of the world,” Sett says, grinning, so happy. His eyes travel from the ring back to Aphelios’ profile, and realizes, that for the first time, he is looking at his fiancé.

* * *

Very little sleep is achieved that night, as Sett and Aphelios revel once more in making love with each other, this time as a betrothed pair.

* * *


	3. Eclipse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, two quick notes before beginning. Fair warning that this chapter will go from bad to worse, and so if you're having a rough time, feel free to wait until the next update so you don't have to leave things on a brutally angsty note.
> 
> Second, I decided to use my twitter for something other than uploading my nintendo switch screenshots, and even though I BIG REGRET because this last week has been a turbo settphel hater festival??? or some shit, I'd still love to be able to talk to you guys and give you updates. If you are interested, find me here: https://twitter.com/goIdfinch 
> 
> I'd say enjoy but like... 'buckle up' is probably much more apt (sorry!)

* * *

**ECLIPSE**

* * *

The weather can’t seem to make up its mind; mists of light rain dampen the air, followed minutes later by scattered sunshine through the clouds. Its equivocating only amplifies Sett’s mood that morning—he spends one moment in euphoric joy and the next twisting with dread. Back on Buhru, the pair reconnect with Kirin, who responds to Sett assaulting him with the information that he and Aphelios are now engaged with a bland, unsurprised nod, before all three make their way through the empty, early morning plaza to the Temple. The Vastayan keeps having to remind himself to get his emotions under control. It’s uncertain what reaction the priests would have should they learn Sett and Aphelios were anything other than Provider of Services and Client, and Aphelios himself is having no problems behaving like today is just another ordinary day. But Sett can hardly keep his mind off the ring on the Lunari’s left hand, hidden as it is under his glove, and also how he runs the real risk of resorting to violence if the priests’ answer is anything but ‘of course we have someone who will help.’

It’s clear that everyone inside the Temple is aware of why these three outsiders are here, now, because unlike the frigid but disinterested glances the group received yesterday, their presence is eliciting outright staring, some of it openly filled with contempt. But the head priest is easy to find, he’s standing by the central fountain, its water drawn from the Pool of Nagakabouros, almost as if he already knew they would be coming so early. Sett hopes that’s a good sign. By his side is a young woman with a head of dark, coiled hair and hazel eyes, and Sett nearly loses himself to a paroxysm of confused jealousy when he sees, to his astonishment, Aphelios wave at her and smile with what can only be labelled recognition.

When the fuck did these two have a chance to meet? Sett is overcome by the need to demand clarification from his lover, made even worse when the girl returns the wave with a beaming grin that anyone with half a functioning brain cell would be able to see contains the excitement of a crush.

“Gentlemen,” the priest croons at them, unwittingly interfering before Sett can say something stupid. “The Bearded Lady seems to indeed be pleased with your offerings, for she has guided one of her servants to accept the task of escorting Aphelios to the Shadow Isles.”

He turns to the woman, who Sett surmises can’t have seen her 21st birthday yet, and who is still being all smiley and bashful, now that the Lunari is in front of her.

“This is Kolli,” he introduces her, “an acolyte of the temple, and the one who has felt it is her purpose to accept this task. You are in good hands with her—”

“You ever even been to the Shadow Isles before?” Sett steps towards her, not bothering to keep the aggression out of his body language or his voice. Usually when he behaves this way people shrink back—especially when they are almost half his height like this girl is—but Kolli just turns her smiles onto him.

“Yessir, once,” she offers brightly.

Sett clucks his tongue, disgusted, rounding on the head priest this time. “You mean to tell me that after our _offering_ , the best you can help us with is a teenager who’s been to the Isles one time? You gotta be yankin’ my chain, here.”

The Vastayan feels a tug on the back of his coat, likely Aphelios indicating to him in a silent way that can’t be seen well by the two Buhruans that he’s being a bit of a shithead. Sett is too emotional to care as much as he should. He’s just about to fire off some more vitriol when the voice of the priest comes, losing its mirthful music and instead sounding firm and matter-of-fact.

“She is the _only_ one who volunteered. You will accept her brave selflessness, or you may choose to decline, though I may remind you about the non-refundable nature of your donation.”

Breathing too deeply and still wrestling with himself, Sett sneers at Kolli, but, after a moment, backs down. If this is the best they’re going to get, he has to make sure he doesn’t blow it all now.

But as Sett recedes, Aphelios steps forward and dips his head respectfully towards the woman, before he speaks in a threadbare voice that is nearly overwhelmed by the burbling of the fountain water behind them.

“Thank you, Kolli.”

As Aphelios stifles some coughing and pulls out his notebook to express himself further, Sett reels. He can’t even pinpoint why exactly, but on top of the raging feelings already embattling his heart, seeing his new fiancé interact with this mere girl—and her getting to hear his voice, no less—it all makes Sett absolutely furious. Kirin is too familiar with his employer’s mood swings and temper, because his voice emanates abruptly and authoritatively from where the old man is standing behind Sett and to his left, low enough that only Sett’s enhanced hearing will pick it up.

“Calm yourself,” he instructs. “Immediately.”

It’s enough of a reminder of what’s at stake that it buys them all some time before Sett’s (now inevitable) eruption, though the beast-man is getting red and sweaty and squirrely with the pent-up emotions.

Aphelios must understand on some level that, for all intents and purposes, Sett is out of commission for the time being, because he begins writing what he wants to say without signing for Sett to interpret like he had done yesterday.

 _I’m sorry but we will have to communicate like this,_ the notebook page reads. _Thank you again for volunteering to protect me. May I ask when you are ready to depart, and what we must do to prepare?_

The Vastayan sees how the girl’s eyes sparkle with adoration as Aphelios hands her the notebook, he doesn’t understand how the whole damn temple can’t also see it, much less how Aphelios himself is behaving so nonchalantly in the face this woman who Sett thinks is practically slobbering, disgracing herself.

It’s all unbearable, now that Sett’s being relegated to irrelevance. More powerful than his anger is a sharp feeling of pain, almost of helplessness, but his anger is definitely still present and of sufficient force that his fur is prickling and beginning to ignite with his magic. Standing there, nearly losing his shit and Phel seemingly uncaring… now Sett is mad even at his fiancé and the fact that this is happening in front of others is just added humiliation.

“Aphelios,” Kirin intervenes, though Kolli and the priest are already staring at Sett, the priest wearing an expression that reads of disappointment with, perhaps, a slight edge of disdain, and the woman merely looking a little bewildered as to why this giant man with red ears is glaring back at her with such ferocity. “We will meet you in an hour outside the temple. Make your arrangements. There is something that requires an urgent discussion between Sett and I.”

The pretext is fooling no one, and though it’s far from ideal, Aphelios understands and agrees with a nod, turning back as Kolli begins to provide her halting answer, she’s still off-step from the weird drama that just unfolded and seemed focused on her, for whatever reason.

With the demeanor of a mother pulling her bratty child out by the ear, Kirin leads Sett from the Temple, disallowing even a peep from the Vastayan until they reach a more secluded area, an isolated section of docks that has a marked absence of people that can overhear once Sett inevitably gets upset—he already looks like a tea kettle left on to boil too long.

As predicted, Sett explodes.

“Why didja make that shit up and force me to come out with ya?! Couldn’t you see that I had to step in?” The furious frenzy with which Sett is pacing in front of the stoic, unmoving Kirin is somewhat comical in how mismatched they are. But Kirin has weathered many a storm from the beast-man, a third of his age and far more emotional than he ever was, and so Sett’s left-hand man just waits it out, unphased.

“You followed when you could have denied me and stayed,” Kirin points out sharply, he never pussyfoots, even though Sett is technically his boss as well as _The_ Boss. “So you know why. You should be thanking me for preventing you from making an even bigger fool of yourself and also from ruining the arrangement _you_ paid a fortune to coordinate. Something’s got you rattled and it isn’t that kraken kid, so out with it so you can put yourself together before you meet your moon boy.”

Sett snarls, ears low and teeth flashing after he spits into the ocean. “It _isn’t_ that kraken kid? Are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Kirin would roll his eyes, if he could be bothered to do so. Instead, he just acts as a warm body for Sett to howl at.

“First of all, she’s like, what, fuckin’ twelve? She get her mommy’s permission before signin’ up for such a _dangerous mission_? ‘N didja _see_ how she was makin’ googoo eyes at Phel? The whole fuckin’ time! She probably only volunteered to protect him ‘cause she’s gonna try and jump his bones the second they’re outta here! Fuckin’ wavin’ at him and all smiley—it pisses me the fuck off! ‘N I just have to stand there ‘n watch! ‘N Phel certainly wasn’t doin’ much to get her to tone it down!”

This time Kirin _does_ roll his eyes. “Sett, you are being absurd. She may have a crush, aye. But she is clearly an adult, the only adult who volunteered mind you, most probably _because_ of her crush, and unlike you with your shit-for-brains whenever you get rubbed the wrong way, Aphelios is a smart lad who can behave himself when the situation calls for it. I understand that you’ve got it real bad for your moon boy, but this is excessive, even for you.”

Sett is still seething to the point where it’s doubtful any logic is really registering, so, even though playing therapist like this exasperates Kirin to no end, he still (very deep down) carries extreme affection and respect for Sett, and understands that even though his boss does have a jealous streak, he’s not usually a psycho about it, and there is something more to it.

“Listen to me. You don’t have time to be acting like loose cannon. I think you’re upset that it’s getting more and more real that Aphelios is going to be heading to the Shadow Isles. I think you’re taking something out on that girl, and that while, yes, you are probably desperate to show her how in love the two of you are, that you can’t actually be _this_ enraged that a _woman_ is hitting on the man who, as you immediately informed me at the crack of dawn this morning, has agreed to marry the likes of you.

“So pull yourself together and figure out what’s actually got you so wound up, because you have about fourty more minutes to get it out of your system before we are due back at that kraken temple.”

Though Sett infinitely prefers how Aphelios uses calm energy and gentle touches to break his bad moods, Kirin’s ‘no bullshit’ approach works with him, too. Enough of his assistant’s words penetrate the fugue of rage for the Vastayan to process them, though it’s clear he’s still upset.

“Yeah, I _know_ I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about with Phel—I mean, even if he _couldn’t_ handle himself and take a bitch down five ways in under a minute if they tried somethin’—I trust him. I know that ain’t it… but yeah, it does bug the shit out of me havin’ to watch her be so fuckin’ obvious about it.

“’Cause it should be me. It should all be me. I should be the only one who gets to be all melty with him. I want everyone to know that _I’m_ the one he loves. And it should be me, protectin’ him and makin’ sure he gets to and from that hellhole safely.

“…I don’t want it to be her. I don’t want it to be anyone else. I want it to be me.”

“It can’t be you,” Kirin says, his neutral tone embroidered with just the slightest hint of affection, enough that his remark doesn’t come across quite so brutal. “Not this time, lad.”

Sett stares hard at Kirin, eyes bright and yellow with his agitation, before he sighs and rubs his hands up and down his face as if he can wash away the last dregs of emotional delirium.

“…Kinda tempting to find any pirate who’s willing to sail me there… I’d really consider it if I didn’t know how totally pissed Phel would be with me…”

“Yes,” Kirin agrees firmly. “Even with that boy’s seemingly limitless patience for your idiocy, I believe he would be hard-pressed to forgive you if you did that.” Then, seeing that Sett still has the little glint in his eye that he gets when he’s going to do something impulsive, orders “do not be that much of a fool, Settrigh.”

Kirin watches vigilantly as Sett relents, getting a little smaller, deflating, filled up to bursting with impotent anger as he was. The old man knows Sett _loathes_ feeling helpless, rare though it is, and it’s a relatable hatred for another man who has also lived a fiercely independent life, so Kirin doesn’t hold it against the Vastayan. Even though he can’t help but think, as someone who’s never married or been very seriously in love himself, how much of a liability it is to care so much for someone when life is so out of one’s control.

But by the time they meet back up with Aphelios, Sett is sufficient master of his turbulent emotions that the first thing he does is apologize. The Lunari is sitting alone on the stone perimeter of a plaza garden, looking lost in thought until his attention pricks at the approaching heavy footsteps he’d recognize anywhere. He turns to Sett, waiting as the older man heaves a sigh and comes to sit down beside him, Kirin walking off to wait at a discrete distance to allow the two to talk alone.

“I’m real sorry I lost my cool, Phel,” Sett says, his voice plaintive and beseeching. “I’m just strugglin’ with… ya know… bein’ worried for ya ‘n stuff. I’ll keep it together better, I promise. Didja sort out what ya needed to with that girl?”

Aphelios nods, and because they are in public he can’t kiss Sett like he wants to, so without any preamble he provides his update.

_We’re leaving this evening._

Sett’s stomach feels like it’s fallen through the soles of his feet into the bowels of the earth.

_She said it’s best if we plan it so we arrive in the Shadow Isles early morning, and she’ll give me the day to look for evidence of Diana. So we’ll be making the trip by boat through the night. She was willing to leave tonight._

“Tonight, huh?” Sett repeats, his tongue forming the words slowly as his mouth has suddenly gone bone dry.

Sympathy is written across Aphelios’ face. Neither of them really thought it would be so soon, all they had expected from today was finding out whether or not Aphelios would have Nagakabouros’ protection magic.

_I’m sorry. But I can’t wait any longer than is absolutely necessary. And think of it this way, our last night together couldn’t have been better. I’m so grateful that those will be the memories I’m taking with me._

“Don’t say that,” Sett sniffs hard and wipes his running nose on the back of his hand. Why is it getting so hard for him to see…? “Don’t call it our last night together. It’s just… we’re just gonna have to wait for a while before our next one. That’s all, right? Promise me?”

Though they are in public and their surroundings are filling with more people as the morning matures, this time Aphelios does not stop himself from reaching for one of Sett’s massive hands, gripping it tightly. The Vastayan tips his head back, looking into the overcast sky, desperately trying to blink back the sudden tears collecting in his eyes.

“I promise,” Aphelios says with his tattered voice, squeezing Sett’s hand.

They both know that he’s making a promise there is a good chance he can’t keep.

Sett really might be sending the love of his life off to his death, and the bright future they’d been so immersed in dreaming of just hours ago might remain just that.

A dream.

Sett breathes in deeply, though his inhales hitch, hastily wiping at his eyes before turning to Phel, the tip of his nose just under the dark scar is rosy with his emotion. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m fallin’ to pieces here, when you’re gonna be just fine.”

Aphelios nods, more solemnly than he’d intended, before pressing Sett into a promise of his own.

_And you… promise me you’ll wait here for me. Promise me you won’t do something silly, like try and follow me. I need to know that you’re safe, here, on Buhru, and will still be here when I get back._

Boy, Sett thinks, Aphelios really has him figured out, back to front.

“I’d never even think of doin’ somethin’ that dumb, don’t you worry,” Sett lies and forces an empty grin that’s fooling no one.

Before Aphelios can respond Sett rises abruptly, dusting himself off and flexing his neck like he’s got a kink in it. He’s devastated, but he’ll be damned if he makes this all about himself and his feelings again. Aphelios needs to see him strong, needs to know that he can focus on his duty and not worry about Sett coming apart at the seams or putting himself in danger.

“Let’s get what ya need ready, ‘kay? Provisions for two, enough for a week to be on the super safe side, medical supplies you ain’t gonna be needin’…”

The Lunari has little time to stifle his own reaction at having seen Sett’s intense emotion before he has to follow the Vastayan, already heading back to the ship so they can start the numerous preparations they have to undertake before night falls.

* * *

As Kolli unfurls it, the sail of her dinghy catches a levanter and fills with the gentle swell of wind, pulling the little boat from the dock as far as the mooring lines will allow. She’s already one fight deep with Sett, after refusing about half of the crap he’d insisted on packing into her sailboat. He’d only relented when she’d pointed out that finding room for the excessive provisions he’d bought would mean less room for the reliquaries of holy water and for Diana, should she be found.

The dock is busy, though its traffic consists of disinterested people going about their errands and not giving much thought to the Buhru acolyte readying her boat with three foreigners looking on. It’s hardly a comforting place for tender moments, for which there had been little time during the frenetic day. Far too little time.

Aphelios is staring absently into the madder sky, a shell-shocked expression on his face, his heart feeling like it’s sinking with the setting sun. It is cold assurance that, when, in a few hours from now, he drinks the noctum, he won’t have to wrestle with this feeling anymore; the feeling like he is on a knife’s edge, heart, spirit and mind a moment from fracturing, like his show of courage is draining him until it empties his soul of everything aside from inconsolable weeping, if he lets it. And at least he won’t feel this creeping dread, the premonitory intuition that something awful, something fateful is in his near future.

He won’t feel anything at all.

“Good luck to you, lad,” comes Kirin’s gruff voice from beside him as the old man claps a hand on one of Aphelios’ broad shoulders. “You’d better make it back in one piece, or else I’ll have to retrieve you myself and pay you back for leaving me to babysit that moody oaf.”

The Lunari turns and manages a dim smile, but feels too brittle to construct any other reply.

“All good to go,” Kolli announces resolutely, distinctly unbothered by the Vastayan who’s still hovering and shooting her an occasional hairy eyeball. “Mr. Aphelios, we can leave any time you’re ready.”

Well, this is it, Aphelios swallows hard as he thinks to himself. He can’t shake the sudden instinct that this mission is going to go horribly wrong. He’s in the middle of sorting through a thousand small decisions about how to say goodbye to Sett—should he still keep up appearances since they’re in public? Should he tell the other how much he loves him before the noctum cuts him away from such feelings?—when with a sudden creak of wood and the splash of displaced water, Sett steps into the craft, seizing Kolli by the arm, which he is only now realizing is actually fairly thick with muscle.

“Lemme make real sure we’re on the same page here, lady,” he speaks down to her, once again expecting her to be mollified by the force of his intensity and registering equal parts irritation and reluctant admiration when she merely returns his glare, unimpressed. “You get Phel to and from the Shadow Isles safely, and I’ll make it real worth your while. Whatever ya want, you’ll be able to afford it. But if anything happens to him, I will personally hunt you down along with your entire fuckin’ temple—”

Sett is yanked back by his collar, and to everyone’s surprise, the one doing the grabbing is not Kirin, but Aphelios.

 _Stop_ , the Lunari signs firmly, but his mouth is twitching to suppress a smile. _You’re not going to dishonour me by tormenting innocent people if I get myself hurt, okay?_

Abruptly abandoning his empty threat to punish Kolli’s faithful brethren, Sett’s already moved on, turning his full attention to Aphelios as Kolli and Kirin look on, one with open shock and the other with weary exasperation.

“Yeah, I know. But you better come back safe, mooncake. Ya hear me?” Sett pulls Aphelios to him and, with flippant disregard for how hard they’ve tried to conceal their relationship up until now, crushes the Lunari against him and kisses him passionately, only stopping when Aphelios is almost faint for his shortness of breath, though Sett still hasn’t let him go as he turns to speak to Kolli who is staring, gobsmacked.

“That’s right, girlie. Phel here? He’s my fiancé, we’re gonna get _married_ , ‘cause we’re madly in love with each other. So you can put your eyes back in their sockets and quit oglin’ him so fuckin’ hard ‘n just make sure I have no reason to get dangerous ‘n make good on my threat, ‘kay?”

Aphelios has his hand poised to strike a debilitating poke in the beast-man’s ribs to put him in his place again, but there’s no need, because Kolli is already laughing merrily.

“Ahh, I see now! No wonder the big red man has been throwing tantrums like a toddler past nap-time.” She steps a leg onto one of the wooden benches of her boat, leaning with an elbow on her knee. “Worry not, big red man. I would not risk my life or disgrace Nagakabouros by offering someone help that I cannot truly give, even a someone as beautiful and nice as Mr. Aphelios.”

Before Sett can fire off his acidic retort Aphelios pulls his face back in his direction, and with barely restrained desperation, kisses him again.

The kiss has to say all of the things Aphelios can’t give voice to, now that their time is up and he must depart. He wants to tell Sett how grateful he is for the sparkling moments of joy, the ones that gave all the heart-hollowing pain and loss some meaning. He wants to thank him for his patience, his devotion, his generosity, his understanding, his kindness, his warmth. He wants to tell him that, when he doesn’t come back, that Sett shouldn’t wait too long before trying to find love again… after all, he’s got so much to give.

There’s much more he wants to say too, but no more time to say it, and when he opens his mouth to try and speak, the silence that comes means he has no more voice, either.

 _I love you_ , he signs instead, once they part. _I’ll love you forever._

He watches for what he is increasingly convinced will be the last time as Sett softens, his ears swiveling toward Aphelios even though he knows how his lover saw his voice fail him.

“I love ya too, Phel. I’ll love ya beyond forever.”

The words are sealed with two kisses, the first on Aphelios’ lips, the last on his cheek, where white skin is inked purple.

Then, Sett helps Aphelios into the boat, holding his hand to stabilize him as the Lunari embarks, Kolli untying the craft, delaying its launch from the dock with a hand gripping a wooden plank. Despite her savage banter with Sett, she intuits that the trio needs a moment more and respectfully gives it to them.

Aphelios looks to Kirin, who is not one for many words anyway, and has already said what he wanted to. The two men nod at each other in mutual understanding.

Then, Aphelios looks to Sett, inadvertently clenching his gloved left hand into a fist, and nearly crying when he feels the slight tension of the ring there.

“See ya soon, bunny,” Sett says, looking like his heart in being pierced clean through.

Betrayed by his broken voice, Aphelios only hopes that Sett can read the look of love on his face as he offers what little reply he can manage. A nod. A nod that feels like a lie.

Kolli pushes off, and no sooner does she pull the rigging of the boom taut than the sail catches the wind full on and the little boat speeds off into the deepening darkness of twilight.

Sett stands on the dock, staring at the horizon long after the speck of the boat has disappeared even from his extra sharp sight, letting Kirin guide him away only once every last star has twinkled into place, configured around a brilliant, full moon.

The usually loudmouthed Sett is conspicuously silent as he allows his assistant to return him to their rented ship—despite the cramped quarters and the shitty bed there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than buried in the blankets that will still carry Aphelios’ fragrance—he doesn’t even reply when Kirin offers a clumsy word or two of reassurance.

But Kirin does hear the Vastayan later on; the old man had a hunch that Sett might need him nearby and so had decided to stay in his own cabin on the ship instead of spending the night in the city again. Kirin hears Sett’s heartsick sobbing, late into the night.

* * *

It’s cruel, really. Cruel and confusing, that after almost a week of no contact from her brother, and even then, the last time they’d spoken had been amidst the fall-out of his kidnapping, that Alune can only connect with him now that their priorities are so much bigger than comforting each other, than saying what they truly want to be able to say before Aphelios sets foot into hell itself. Even though he has taken a larger dose of the noctum than usual—the overlap between them needs to be immediate and with crystal clarity—the moment Alune tethers with Aphelios she is rocked by the sheer despair yawning like a sinkhole in her twin’s heart, the poison barely stitching the chasm together.

Of course, Alune herself has been sick with worry while she waited for updates, and while she should be heartened as she looks through Aphelios’ eyes at the Buhru girl with her hand on the rudder and relic jars of holy water by her feet (the crazy plan had worked! Sett really had managed to make good on his promise to help Aphelios get protection magic!) she is overcome by a terrible, unspeakable realization instead.

For some reason, Aphelios is sure he is going to die.

“Brother,” she calls out to him, trying in vain to stifle her panic that she knows is transmitting to him, numb on the surface though he might be. “Why… why is your hope gone? Has something happened while we were separated? Why do you expect death with such surety, when I see you have secured the protection magic? And can’t you feel Mother Moon? She is watching you, following your every movement. I can feel her light all over you, protecting you too. Can’t you feel it? Phel…? Phel, you’re scaring me… why? Why are you _so sure?_ ”

It takes a long time for his answer to come, even though their tether is strong and she knows they should have no problems communicating, their feelings and thoughts are transmitting with ease through the celestial veil. It’s a question of his removal, of his disinterest in explaining to her.

“A feeling,” is all he thinks back to her.

This only pitches her frightened confusion to critical levels. She can’t remember the last time Aphelios was this distant from himself, and violating their agreement she probes hard into his heart and mind, impatiently searching for some clue as to why he’s so positive he will not survive, though she does her best to avoid invading any of his actual memories. The answer she comes up with amounts to little more than a battle-honed instinct; a warrior with a prescient sense of their own impending demise. But in the course of riffling through his thoughts and feelings, she stumbles upon something else—right at the top of Aphelios’ heart because his subconscious is so fixated on it—so shocking she can’t help but blurt out:

“Engaged?!”

Instantly, she feels the full weight of his attention shift back onto her, and she thinks again for a tiny moment how it really is too cruel that, if Aphelios truly is heading into mortal danger that will overcome him, then the last moments Alune has to spend with her beloved twin will be while he is so estranged from himself his soul is nearly unrecognizable to her.

She would rather he be furious with her for prying, or reactive to how upset she is over finding out this way that Aphelios has promised himself in marriage (and without even talking to her first!); she would rather he reacts with even the shade of any other emotion even if it’s ugly, even if they spend this time together fighting, because the inhuman neutrality he responds with instead feels like it’s breaking her heart.

“Please concentrate, Alune. Kolli says we are only an hour from the Isles. We must be prepared, not distracted.”

The whole situation—how long she spent in the temple ruminating over the risk of this mission, alone in her efforts to solidify her faith that Aphelios would achieve the orbit set out for him by the Moon, that he would find Diana and be safe, coupled with how abrupt and intense her entry into his mind was, only for him to coat their tether in ice and unconsciously reject her as she sought reassurance and clarification from him—it’s all too much and Alune teeters precariously on the edge of hysteria. She has no numbing benefit of the noctum, and instead is battered by the storm of her all emotions as well as the ones Aphelios has repressed so deeply he is incapable of acknowledging them.

This chaos is, of course, transmitting through the conduit. Ironically, it’s the thing powerful enough that it creates a tiny, true connection; a little thread between brother and sister that bypasses the noctum. A miniscule glint in the darkness that lets Alune know that, no matter what happens or how he acts or reacts while under the influence of the poison, Aphelios loves her so much and always will, that they are two halves of the same soul, and that he’s so sorry she suffers so intensely.

“I need your help,” he tells her consciously, but the subconscious, heart-to-heart message is that he’s sorry again, because he has to demand that she is strong enough for the both of them, because if this chaos persists in his head as he tries to survive whatever awaits him in the Shadow Isles, he’ll be lost… and not only now, on this mission, but always. He’d be lost without her.

Unable to curb the intensity of her reply, she blasts back that she would be lost without him, too.

And she means it. With the supernatural force of her will and with a prayer to the moon, she hones herself. Her breakdown can and must wait, she will focus every moonlit strand of her power into helping Aphelios be safe right now. Though she knows her brother can feel that she’s managed to centre herself again, she still makes a promise to him via articulated words.

“…You can rely on me, Aphelios.”

Nearly in the same moment that Alune regains control over herself, the watery light of dawn is blotted out, as if a great funeral shroud has been suddenly tossed over the world. The tropical warmth of the summer waters of the Serpent Isles chills down to the damp cold of a disused crypt.

“We’re passing into the Shadow Isles,” Kolli confirms for Aphelios and Alune who have surmised as much themselves. The Buhru acolyte cannot see the Lunari’s sister, but he had explained via writing what he was about to do before drinking the noctum, and why, and so she knows she’s speaking to the both of them. As Aphelios nods back solemnly, Alune’s voice emanates inside his head once more.

“Why did you not bring Sett, as we discussed? Not because of your betrothal…” Alune is grateful that her brother will have protection magic, but she can’t help but feel resentment percolating that this Buhru girl will be the only person physically able to keep Phel safe. She has been fastidious in keeping certain thoughts from her twin regarding Sett, one of them being that she would much rather Aphelios be escorted by someone willing to die to save him. But she also suspects that it is for this precise reason that Aphelios has refused to let the half-Vastayan come.

“No,” he answers back. “The Buhru would not permit anyone else other than myself and one guide to undertake this journey. But I would not have allowed Sett to come, regardless.”

It’s pointless to argue about the principle of it now, how foolish it is for Aphelios to protect Sett when, from what Alune can tell, Sett doesn’t want to be protected and such protection comes at a huge disadvantage for Aphelios himself and, by extension, the Lunari as a whole.

It’s pointless and there truly is no time now, because out of the dusky mirk, winking like a dying star, comes the light of a barrier beacon.

“The main island, the one with the library you asked to see, is just on the other side of that ward light, Mr. Aphelios.” Despite the very brief time they’d had to get to know each other, it is still readily apparent that Kolli is usually a cheerful, unflappable person, smiling even in the face of something like a massive, muscle-bound man threatening her and her fellow devotees. But as she secures the rudder and lets the sail slacken, rising and unsealing an especially large reliquary of holy water, Kolli’s face is etched with grave seriousness. Aphelios looks on with Alune silent in his head, as the acolyte murmurs an incantation over the vessel; it isn’t long before the holy water inside burbles up and blooms out over them, forming a shimmering golden shield around their boat.

“You must be very careful,” Kolli reminds him. “Remember what I told you about the differences in the protection spells I can cast. Inside this shield, on the boat, you will be completely safe. The Mist cannot penetrate it in any way. But when you leave it, the Mist will be all around you, and shielding doesn’t work on humans. They say the Mist will try to trick you, call you to it, so you must be very careful, because all the holy water prevents is physical contact. Your mind is still in danger. I will try to follow you as much as I can with the boat along the coast. And like we talked about, I will meet you on the West coast, so all you’ll have to do is follow the setting sun.”

Aphelios nods again, readying himself. He hadn’t told Sett that another of the kraken priest’s strict stipulations was that only Aphelios himself would be the one to disembark—under no circumstances was Kolli to put herself in any undue risk by also walking into the Isles, and besides, they had not been provided with enough holy water to protect both of them on land. It made no difference, Aphelios would never have let anyone, much less a kind stranger, endanger themselves on his behalf.

He just hopes that he’s ready for whatever illusions and tricks this place will throw at him; after all, he does have the benefit of Alune seeing through his eyes and hearing his thoughts even while her mind is still her own. Hopefully this means the Lunari will be less susceptible to being led astray, it’s unlikely the Mist will be able to influence Alune when she’s not even in the same realm, but the deepening pit of dread bottoming out Aphelios’ stomach predicts otherwise, though luckily his consciousness is too divorced from the intuition manifesting in his body for these feelings to bear much intensity.

“I will see truly for you, brother,” Alune responds, feeling his concern.

The five minutes that pass before the boat gently nudges onto shore feels simultaneously the mere duration of a heartbeat, and the distorted stretch of an entire lifetime.

Finally, the moment is here. Aphelios has arrived in the Shadow Isles, and with a distant feeling akin to relief, he understands the anticipation can finally be over, whatever will happen is about to happen, and at least he doesn’t have to wait any longer for the shape of his orbit to materialize.

“I’ll be praying to Mother Serpent for you, Mr. Aphelios.”

Straightening from organizing and securing a satchel of provisions to his body, Aphelios reaches for Kolli’s proffered hand, shaking it.

 _Thank you_ , he signs, and Kolli understands because it is one of the several gestures he’d taught her at her asking while they killed time through the night.

 _You’re welcome_ , she signs back, and then says aloud, “be safe out there. Don’t lose sight of the sun. Very easy when the Mist is this thick… you picked a bad time to visit. And remember, I will be leaving at sundown, and you’d better be on the boat or else there will be a very sad big red man back in Buhru. Not to mention that I would be very upset to lose my new friend who is so kind and handsome.”

Aphelios manages a smile, more because he knows objectively that such a reaction is appropriate, not because he feels like smiling or because his body has generated such a response on its own.

The heft of the reliquary that Kolli hands him is surprising—it’s heavy enough that it might give him real trouble should he need to also use his guns while carrying it. He informs Alune that she should prioritize the one-handed weapons, Severum and Crescendum, and while she responds with confirmation, she also balks. Both of those weapons require Aphelios to be up close and personal with a threat, and she would much rather give him something like Calibrum that keeps him further from harm.

Kolli recites a spell over the open container, and Aphelios watches as the liquid inside stirs and awakens, glowing iridescent gold.

“Okay,” the girl tells him, her tone one of finality. “Don’t ever let that go, or let it spill. If it begins to dim, head straight back. Otherwise… you’re ready to go.”

The Lunari stares into the holy water as it swirls in a deliberate rhythm like it’s churned by an unseen hand, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he does before he begins training, before he enters a fight. Ready, he shifts his gaze to Kolli’s hazel eyes, full of emotion and expression but unreadable for Aphelios while under the noctum. He nods one last time, and without further hesitation, vaults over the side of the boat, passing through the shield and landing knee deep in ice-cold, fetid water.

Even through the muffle of the poison, the shock to Aphelios’ physiological systems is sufficient that it registers in his brain. The very atmosphere of this place is pulling at him; the sensation of a thousand fingertips brushing needily and greedily at his skin sends sick shivers through his body, and every breath is prickly, like the air is filled with grasping, ephemeral hands trying to scrape at Aphelios from the inside out.

It takes more effort than usual to move, like the fabric of gravity is weighted differently in this place and the assassin’s feet are moving through quicksand instead of the shallow shore-line water. He’s taken a few steps—no more than four or five, surely—but when he looks back at the boat with its golden barrier and lone occupant, it feels like Kolli is already miles away.

Perhaps it’s not the gravity that’s different here. The Shadow Isles are ruled, not by time or movement, but by a cursed loneliness.

“You are not alone, Aphelios,” Alune reminds him, but her voice feels too distant, like the Mist is clawing at their tether, filling it with static in an effort to truly isolate Aphelios. “Hold on to my voice, Phel. I will be with you the entire time.”

Resolutely, Aphelios presses forward, heading into the dark heart of the murk. He’s used to keeping each of his senses pricked sharply to receive any and all information about his surroundings, and he realizes he’s having trouble hearing properly. His eardrums feel full of sounds, he wasn’t expecting the Shadow Isles to be such a loud place, but when he tries to decipher specific noises in the demanding press of sound, he can’t. In fact, through the indistinct noise he can still hear the sounds of his own footfalls, the wind picking up and making the bare branches of the dead forest creak. The cacophony isn’t coming from any physical, real source in his environment; the noise that feels like it’s deafening him is supernatural, and he has to concentrate hard on trying to listen around it, because it feels uncannily like a hundred thousand inarticulate whispers all trying to get his attention, speaking over Alune, and should he pay the terrible noise any mind, he’s liable to hear what the whispers are trying to tell him.

“You can hear something?” Alune queries with the clear implication that she can’t, and this is worrisome too, because usually the overlap between Aphelios’ senses and his sister’s experience of them is as total as they permit it to be.

“…I think I hear the Mist,” Aphelios replies, his best guess though he has no evidence.

What feels like Alune taking a deep, steadying breath creates a hesitant pause over their connection. He can tell she is concerned, after all, it’s only been a few minutes and already they’ve encountered something that seems to be able to peel Aphelios away from his soul-deep intertwining with his sister, something able to compromise the magic of the Moon.

“…Assume that if I cannot hear or see something, that it is an illusion,” she says at last and Aphelios agrees by default. It’s the best benchmark they have, in any case.

As if in response, the amorphous noise intensifies, and even through the noctum it manages to elicit a shiver up Aphelios’ spine, before he resists and pushes it to a corner of his consciousness. With a sensation impossible to put into words, the Lunari senses that the sources of the noise realize he is ignoring them and he feels them recede, less in a way of giving up on messing with him and much more with the feeling of a sinister tactical retreat.

Still, he presses on, losing sight of the shore entirely and picking his way through the skeletal trees toward what looks to be the outline of a massive building, darker against the dimness of the suppressed daylight. In Kirin’s old books Aphelios had learned of the heart of the Blessed Isles, the library; home to a vault that unlocked with the cycles of the Moon. It seemed as good a place as any to search for evidence of Diana, and even aside from that, as a devoted Lunari, Aphelios is deeply curious about something that reveals its secrets only underneath the beams of the Moon.

The decayed wilderness of the forest begins to thin, giving way to tumbled rubble, the buildings that have withstood the ages and the corruption are leaning crazily, more reminiscent of a mouthful of broken teeth than the structures of a once advanced civilization. Despite the prevalent evidence that this place has long been abandoned, it seems to seethe and crawl with occupants that remain just out of sight.

However, it’s not for long that they stay hidden.

Aphelios is staring up into the sky—mildly disconcerted at how long it takes to locate the sun, despite it definitely being morning—when out of the corner of his eye he catches unmistakable movement.

“Did you see that?” he checks with Alune, who replies that she did not, and so while the twins firmly categorize it as another illusion, Aphelios remains vigilant. He’s not stupid enough to get complacent, but he does wonder to himself if this is the extent of the threat the Isles will offer him; between the protection magic of Nagakabouros and his supernatural ability to commune with his sister, perhaps the most this evil place can offer up is little better than some magician parlour tricks and _trompe l’oeil._ So long as he keeps his wits about him, made much easier with the noctum, maybe the premonitory sense of doom that had plagued him since his departure will amount merely to understandable, but meaningless anxiety.

Cautiously, he proceeds, navigating naturally to the ruined main thoroughfare, a cobbled road which leads to the once magnificent building that fits the description of the library Aphelios has read about. Suddenly, out of the indistinct rumble of noise that is still very much present in Aphelios’ ears but he has largely been listening around, something identifiable and demanding emerges—the screech and clatter of old, rusted metal being dragged across stone with great force, seeming to originate with ever greater clarity from behind him and to his right.

Automatically he whirls to confront the source, and in the same moment that he sees the insubstantial black-green fog coalesce into a cursed, deformed entity, some kind of nightmarish ghoul, Alune cries out in his head that she sees this one, now, and she needs not another instant before she fills his hand with Crescendum. Without a second thought the assassin flings the boomerang blade with deadly accuracy, lopping the head off the monster just as its form has solidified and it is hunkering down into the beginning of a sprint. 

Illusion or not, the decapitated abomination appears vanquished, disintegrating with a metallic shriek, dissolving to rejoin the rest of the swirling Mist.

As he catches Crescendum on its return flight, Aphelios ponders ‘aloud’ to his sister. “Kolli said the reliquary would keep me safe from physical danger,” he firms his grip on the handle of the holy water as he explains, “but I don’t think it’s safe to treat whatever that was as a mere illusion. But it’s good to know that these creatures can still be felled in the way I am used to.”

Alune is unusually silent, taking an especially long moment before she replies.

“Yes, brother. But I worry for you. The wraith emerged from the Mist, which is everywhere, and should more materialize you could easily be overwhelmed. Even strength such as yours has limits…”

Unable to put his finger on why he has such a reaction, especially so emotionally distanced due to the noctum, Aphelios brushes aside the minute sense of dismay he feels to hear Alune talking so suddenly and so plainly about how easy it would be for Aphelios to be defeated. After all, she’s not wrong; his energy will only wane the more time he spends here, and the Mist forcing him to fight off its spectral illusions might very well be part of its strategy to exhaust him. Especially coupled with the deafening whispering still clogging his sense of hearing, so loud now it feels like it’s spilling over into prickles at the edge of his vision and insectoid crawling under his skin he shouldn’t even be aware of with the poison, it’s easy to see how vulnerable he might be to depletion.

But he must press on.

Even more than the reliquary, the intimate heft of Crescendum in his hand feels like a talisman; these moonstone weapons as familiar to Aphelios as his own body, his own limbs. If the poison permitted room for such musings, he would be able to identify that having it at the ready like this soothes him, steadies him as if it were the hand of a loved one he is holding instead. It is not very long before the blade is required again.

This time, the clanging of old chains is so loud Aphelios has to fight the urge to raise his hands to cover his ears, and unable to do so, some buried part of his brain registers intense pain in his eardrums, though he can’t consciously connect with how badly it hurts due to the noctum. Sometimes Alune will feel his pain so vividly that she’ll cry out as if she’s the one wounded, but she doesn’t react this time and so he again assumes the sound is not real, and instead Aphelios can feel her attention turned towards some abandoned houses on his left, where through his peripheral vision she has caught sight of more Mist knitting itself together into vulgar, humanoid malformations, three of them.

These too are dispatched before their taloned feet can gain traction in the rotted black earth, trying as they are to run at the Lunari and launch some kind of attack. But as Alune had predicted, these ghouls are hardly undone by Crescendum when the Mist deepens further, pulsing; as if by killing these apparitions, Aphelios has unleashed a new form of nefarious energy that it is absorbing its fallen offspring, the tentative dampener on its true power unwittingly unseamed by Aphelios’ blade. He hardly has time to contemplate what might be happening before his sister’s voice cuts in; the horrific metallic grinding and clanging hardly leaving any room for her speaking in his mind.

“This was a mistake, brother,” she says, and again, even though the feeling is far-off, her sudden criticism makes Aphelios hesitate. “You should not have interacted with the Mist. Look, you’ve only given it power!”

His hesitation buys enough time for the Mist abominations to gain their footing, and the last one he cuts down manages to get within a dozen feet of him before it, too, is eradicated by Crescendum.

“Master your thoughts, Alune,” he tells her, though he is still struggling himself. “I need you with me, and your doubt is sabotaging me—”

There is no time to regain their solidarity, for Aphelios’ very bones seem to be ringing with the torturous noise, as if his body has betrayed him and is sounding out its own death knell. Not that he has the capacity to articulately realize it himself, but this sensory deluge coupled with Alune’s abrupt about-face would be at serious risk of overwhelming Aphelios’ sanity, were he not afforded the numb removal of the noctum.

But there is no time, he can only react. 

Alune seems to have spoken truly, because for every monster Aphelios cuts down, a multitude spring up in its place, until his field of vision is crawling with them, churning and amplifying the awful whispering and shrieking metal, blending with what little physical sensation can penetrate the poison, which is still enough that Aphelios has to repeatedly look down at his own body to make sure he has not been overcome by the groping hands of the undead already.

Over and over and over, Crescendum is sent out, finding its deadly mark, only to leave the Lunari’s hand the moment it returns to him, its enemies starting to feel endless.

Should he keep fighting? Should he wait it out, and see if killing as many of these spectres as he can has any effect? Or should he retreat? He knows he will get tired. He is trying his best to weigh his limited options in what little brain space he has that is not under outrageous demand, when yet another coherent noise materializes enough that he can identify it; Alune has been speaking this entire time, though how he could have lost her voice even amidst the catastrophe of sound is unfathomable, but as sweat begins to pour from his body and his breath comes in desperate gulping gasps and the hand clinging to the reliquary begins to tremble from the extreme exertion… as he disintegrates what feels like the thousandth spectre, this time an arm’s length from his face, he tunes into Alune’s words.

“...You were not ready for this. You should have been more focused, you should have been more prepared. Instead you let yourself become distracted by Sett, let yourself weaken, let your _faith_ weaken!”

... _What?_

How can Alune be saying this to him right now? Can’t she feel how direly he needs her with him? Hadn’t she agreed to support him…?

It’s too much, and even his momentary loss of focus permits the claws of a monster to get a little too close, and Aphelios realizes how much of his strength he’s expended when his usually agile movements are slow enough that the ghoul manages to catch the edge of his scarf, tearing it.

Making a split second, unilateral decision, Aphelios searches for any gap in the onslaught of creatures, and, finding one just in time, uses a risky burst of energy to break into a sprint. Despite his exhaustion, he defaults into years of strenuous practice long-distance running; times when he had pushed himself well past any healthy limits on and off the noctum in anticipation of situations such as this when securing his own escape might be his only chance of survival on a mission gone awry. As such, he is still a fast enough runner that, even in this state, a glance over his shoulder assures him that he is outpacing even the impossible rapid multiplication of Mist ghouls, and he finds a pace that will secure him some time to formulate a plan.

Still balancing a hundred, critically urgent considerations such as how he needs to be careful not to spill the reliquary even while running like this, how he needs to be careful not to get disoriented or lost while running like this, and whether he can make the decision to abandon this mission altogether and flee from the Shadow Isles without having found even the slightest hint of Diana, he interrogates his sister’s vicious words, as sudden and unexpected as purposeful treachery.

Why would she say such things when she could see for herself how much riskier it made things for her brother? And, why such harsh, unforgiving indictments right now? Was that really how she felt, about him, about his relationship with Sett? For some time now he had sensed there were thoughts of hers that she went to extra lengths to conceal from him, and he had worried their contents were similar to what she had spoken so suddenly as he was fighting, worried that she felt guilted into supporting his relationship even as she thought privately about how he had taken things too far, had abused her permission to find a small glimmer of his own happiness.

He’s noticed that the noctum metabolizes faster when he exerts himself this hard, but even that doesn’t account for the surprising acuteness of the strain that he feels in his sensitive heart. Because, even with emotions muffled like this, he is terrified.

Because he realizes what he is being faced with is the shocking but dreaded manifestation of one his deepest fears; that he will fail, that he will let down Alune and the Lunari, and it will have been preventable, it will be his fault because he let himself be too selfish, too weak, and Alune will blame him for it.

When he remembers that she must be able to clearly read all of these conflicted attempts of his to parse some insight, he abandons any pretense of trying to figure it out on his own, and confronts her directly.

“Why now,” he demands, forcing his breathing into some regularity, trying to delay the inevitable collision with the limits of his physical capabilities. “I need your support and if you have really felt these things, why wait until I am in such immediate danger? Do you not see how you are creating a self-fulfilling prophecy? I know… I know I have let you down, let our people down… but you are nigh guaranteeing my failure by dividing my attention like this.”

Alune’s answer is ready, and filled with such cruelty that it leaves an indelible wound on his soul, one deep enough that it will reduce him to weeping when he feels it off of the noctum.

“I could not bear the disappointment any longer. Whether you fall here or return to the boat and slink back to Targon to tell the elders how you’ve failed yet again, I wanted you to know how disappointed I am in you. In how selfish you’ve become.”

His throat constricts, his breathing accelerates despite his efforts and he is hyper-ventilating, vision swimming but this time not due to any insidious, supernatural forces, but because his eyes are filling with tears. He stumbles, only narrowly preventing himself from falling and spilling the holy water.

He was so undefended against this. 

He has so many regrets.

He should have spent more time on the noctum, with Alune, insisting she be fully candid with him about the thoughts he could sense she was keeping from him. But he had wanted to respect the boundaries of her mind, they _were_ two distinct people, their own individuals, after all. And he had wanted to spend what might be the last of his time with Sett in his right mind… able to fully feel being in love and being loved, even if it came with the mind-numbing fear and anxiety… he hadn’t wanted to have to give that up to be burnt away in the immolation of the noctum, even though he now realizes that this is exactly what Alune is talking about.

“Alune, I am sorry…” It’s hardly any use, he can feel how far away her heart is from his, this is the most distant he can remember their connection ever being, he doesn’t even recognize Alune, and usually it’s her saying something like that to him, and he’s struggling to string together the right apology as he juggles the noctum, his failing strength, his broken heart, his self-loathing, and… last but not least… how much immediate danger he is still in.

“I wish it had been someone else,” she answers, at first seemingly apropos of nothing, but soon she clarifies. “I wish it wasn’t you who was my conduit. I’ve always had to push you, remind you of your faith when your devotion should have been without question. I gave you an inch, a moment to pursue your own selfish desires, thinking you would finally be able to move on for having experienced it and rededicate yourself to the cause you were born for. That _we_ were born for. 

“And instead, you took a mile. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed our people. You plan to marry him now? You will never find Diana. And we will die without her. We failed in our destiny, because of you.”

There is a pause, and Aphelios abruptly stops running, breathless and nearly blind. He gives up on running because he believes that whatever final blow Alune is readying to deliver, it will shatter his heart completely and there will be no outrunning that.

“You were born to be a weapon, Aphelios. But a weapon as fragile as you, is utterly useless.”

…

…?

...No.

...No, this is all wrong.

…He doesn’t recognize Alune, because it isn’t her. No matter how likely or unlikely the other indictments might be, one thing Alune has _always_ insisted on, from the first day that Aphelios was groomed to be an assassin of the Lunari, was that he was _not_ a weapon, that he would always be her brother first.

As soon as he realizes, the awful noise, the clamour in his ears and brain are silenced, trailing off with a scratchy sound reminiscent of malicious laughter. In the sudden clarity, Aphelios wipes at his eyes and looks back over his shoulder, and all he sees is the vacant expanse of the Shadow Isles behind him, his pursuers have either dissolved into the Mist from whence they came… or it’s possible they never existed outside of Aphelios’ mind at all.

“Who are you?” he asks the being in his head, without any realistic expectation that he’ll get an answer.

He doesn’t get an answer, but he does get a reply.

“Your agony was delightful.”

And then, the being is gone, making way for the real Alune.

The difference between the two souls is so stark, even obscured as the connection is, that Aphelios wonders how he could have ever mistaken the two.

“Brother!” Alune cries out, the relief, the sincere worry, her adoration for her twin so clear that it makes tears well in Aphelios’ eyes afresh, forced from his heart which was so nearly mortally broken. “I was so scared! Right after I gave you Crescendum something blocked me, all of a sudden I couldn’t hear your thoughts at all. I could only feel your fear, that you were in such grave danger, and there was nothing I could do…”

Even though she knows she should be doing her best to keep it together, Alune breaks down, wailing.

“Phel… Mother Moon, I was so terrified for you! I knew you were in danger and there was nothing I could do…! I couldn’t get through! I thought I—I was so scared I was going to lose you! I kept thinking, over and over, what if you went totally silent, what would I do… Oh Gods Phel, you need to get out of there, you need to get back to the boat! Leave! Nothing is more important than you being safe and there was nothing I could do, I couldn’t help you and I almost lost you… I can’t—I can’t protect you there, you must leave!”

Somewhere deep within Aphelios, under the suppression of the noctum, he is overcome with love, with gratitude. Hearing his true sister, the other half of his soul, even though he doesn’t want her to be so upset… the feeling is akin to when one wakes from a terrible nightmare to the intense relief that it was all a dream, although what Aphelios now feels in his true heart pales in comparison.

“Alune,” he says as gently as possible, “I am safe, please know that. I’m sorry I let myself be tricked, I wasted a lot of my energy back there, but I am safe. And this time we know that whatever exists here can interfere with our conduit, and so I think it will be harder for it this time—"

“No! Phel, you must leave! It’s not worth it, nothing is worth it, I can’t lose you…”

His breathing recovering, it’s easier for Aphelios to calm his body, slow his heart rate and let his tortured muscles relax a little, transmitting this peace to his twin and organizing his thoughts in the process.

“...I can’t give up yet, I’m sorry. I must continue. It will be okay… I’ll be safe. Please, do this with me.”

He can tell Alune is about to protest vehemently, and even mentally like this it’s as if her voice is choked with tears, but he softly cuts her off.

“Please, Alune. I need you, and I will not leave yet. The fate of our people might be here somewhere and I must at least try. And remember… you were the one who told me you didn’t see my orbit ending here. She may not be shining right now, but between you and Mother Moon, I know I can follow this path. I need to. I must.”

Though her pain is broadcasting over their tether, vivid enough that if he weren’t inured Aphelios would be moved to more tears himself, Alune pulls the fragments of herself together, and harmonizes herself with her brother’s will, because she feels how much he needs her to. 

“I… I believe in you, Phel. I know you feel you must do this.” So much love, again, in her voice. “You are so strong... so much braver than I…”

How could he have ever been fooled by that imposter, when his real sister is the one who tells him things like this?

“No Alune,” he responds, able to defer the shade of the noctum for an instant infuse the slightest tint of tenderness into his thoughts. “This is only possible because we are together.”

Feeling the unity between them once more, Aphelios looks to the sky again, noting that the sun has moved considerably, he estimates he lost as much as two hours to fighting the illusory tricks of the Mist and running, and in response he feels Alune’s poorly concealed dismay. More concerning than the lost time—he only has until sundown—is his physical depletion he sees the signs of, though he is unable to feel it in his own body, the sluggish movement of his limbs, his compromised balance. He knows Alune can feel this too, and by unspoken agreement both decide to avoid putting into words what’s likely to happen should Aphelios be faced with another attack.

Retracing his path back to the library, he keeps vigilant for more signs of a trap or deception while trying to analyze what had happened inside his own mind, allowing Alune to dissolve Crescendum back into moonbeams to conserve their power.

It was clear that something had been able to get inside his head, able to emulate his tether with his sister in a convincing enough way it had managed to trick him for a substantial amount of time. Worse still was that this being also evidently had access to his deepest thoughts, feelings, fears and memories, like Alune did, and had been able to weaponize these against Aphelios. By the time he arrives back at the library, he has abridged Alune of what happened while she was shut out, sanitizing much of what the imposter had told him, denying Alune’s automatic attempts to address what he does repeat; a conversation about his fear of failing her or her harbouring secret resentment will absolutely have to wait until he is back in safety. But at the very least, the siblings are aware that they protect no secrets from this place, and everything they cherish or fear is out in the open, exploitable.

The library atrium is massive, almost beyond comprehension, branching with numerous hallways that all stretch as far as Aphelios can see when he looks down their lengths. In its days of glory, this place must have been truly magnificent; shining white marble, brilliant with gold embellishments, resonating with the pleasant hum of quiet conversation and the footfalls of knowledge-seekers. Now, to Aphelios’ eyes, it looks hollow and still, like an exsanguinated corpse suspended supernaturally in the everlasting moment of its death.

Nevertheless, he catches sight of the vault immediately, in the middle of the floor and, to as much surprise as he is capable of feeling, is rotating open slowly, as if it has been expecting the Lunari and wishes to reveal its secrets to him… 

“Why would a lunartropic vault be opening mid-morning,” he asks the both of them, somewhat rhetorically. It goes without saying that it feels like a trap.

For a few minutes, the twins go back and forth, debating whether it’s worth it for Aphelios to take the risk and step inside, for the vault has rotated enough that it’s revealed an ornate spiral staircase that descends into its lightless bowels. As obvious as it seems to be another trick, it’s also possible that it’s some element of Diana’s presence that the vault is responding to; after all, Aphelios points out again that an ancient place of long-lost secrets, unlocked only by the Moon, is practically an ‘X’ on a map marking where one ought to start looking for the Aspect of the Moon.

Alune has nearly persuaded him to spend some time looking elsewhere, he can always circle back once he’s recovered some more of his energy, when a totally unexpected sound—a pained groan—echoes from within the vault.

The noctum is nowhere near powerful enough to prevent the reaction in Aphelios this time, and the blood in his veins turns to ice and he is sure his heart stops.

He would know that voice anywhere.

Alune’s comprehension is delayed just enough that it gives enough space for the voice to call again, stained with anguish and pain.

“...Phel…”

It requires the near superhuman control of every fibre of Aphelios’ being, but he stops himself from immediately rushing down the stairs, to see for himself whether his lover truly is laying in the dark, and if the suffering colouring his voice is any indication, is gravely wounded.

“Do you hear him?” he forces himself to ask Alune, though now he can’t be sure that another illusion won’t be able to effect the both of them. “Do you hear Sett?”

Alune hesitates, but her cringing fear, mounting into panic, is answer enough.

“I hear him,” she confirms reluctantly, scared.

Wretched coughing comes from the black hole of the open vault, but not the breathless kind, like when Phel overuses his voice… the wet, desperate kind the Lunari has only heard in people about to succumb to mortal wounds.

“I have to go to him,” Aphelios tells Alune urgently. “I need to see if he’s real. I need to. Don’t tell me no.”

He’s already halfway down the staircase, holding the reliquary aloft so its faint glow will offer some light as he descends into the pitch black.

At the bottom, he sees nothing, his eyes still adjusting, but he hears clearly enough.

“Ph... Phel… that you…?”

 _It’s him, it’s him, it’s him_ , Aphelios’ heart is screaming at him, wrestling with his brain and deafening Alune, defying the smother of the noctum.

Paralyzed, voiceless, Aphelios can’t answer. But it doesn’t matter, because Sett seems to know it’s him, anyway.

“Mooncake… it _is_ you…” More gurgling coughing, followed by the sound of involuntary spitting. Aphelios knows. He knows what the wetness is.

“I’m real… I’m real sorry sweetheart,” Sett says, sounding like he’s already fading in and out of consciousness. “I couldn’t wait… I broke my promise, I… I hired someone to bring me here… I was… I was too worried about ya… but… I got hurt, I’m hurt real bad…”

No… this has to be another trap. After all, whatever evil corruption lived here had been able to infiltrate his connection with his sister, they had already agreed that this place would torture Aphelios with his deepest fears and loves…

“Why’re ya… can’t ya come here? I just… I wanna see ya one last time. I’m gettin’ real cold… I’m so sorry Phel. This ain’t how I wanted—" more agonized coughing, “—this ain’t how it shoulda ended up. I fucked up, bad. We were supposed to… we were gonna be together… once you found Diana…”

It’s impossible. It can’t be Sett, it has to be a trap.

It’s Sett, he’s here, and he might be about to die, and his last moments will be filled with wondering why Aphelios is rejecting him…

He can’t resist any more. He just needs to see… Aphelios needs to see with his own eyes whether his foolish idiot heartlight is actually dying in the darkness. He must see.

Raising the reliquary again like a lantern, heart pounding, he steps forward in the direction of Sett’s laboured breathing, spending a terrible, conflicted moment as his lover pleads with him to come close, to forgive him, as his sister mounts her vehement protest in his mind.

Aphelios has to get close, his heart will not permit him any other choice than to obey the rattling groans of his wounded lover, begging to be able to hold his hand one last time.

Finally, even in the scant light of the holy water, the carnage of Sett’s body is revealed. Crimson is splashed everywhere, glistening in pools in such quantity that even a layman would know… Sett will not survive. 

“There ya are, sweetheart,” Sett’s voice is full of relief, the strain washing away as he sees his fiancé. “I know it’s real selfish but… I’m glad I get to see ya one last time…”

As Aphelios’ sundered heart screams at him to go to Sett, to hold him and try and stem the flow from innumerable wounds, to heal him, Alune is now screaming in his head that this has to be a trick, that he needs to trust that Sett would honour the promise she can see him making in her brother’s memories that he would stay safe and remain on Buhru to await Aphelios’ return.

But it’s not enough, because as much as Aphelios does trust Sett, he also knows how desperately the older man wanted to help protect him, how irrational the Vastayan can be when it comes to his loved ones being in harm’s way.

The last thread of caution restraining Aphelios snaps, as he watches the shadowed outline of Sett ears, flattened against his head as they had been, perk and swivel toward the Lunari as they always do when Sett sees Aphelios for the first time after being apart.

Aphelios surrenders and rushes to hold his beloved.

“Aphelios, YOU MUST NOT TOUCH HIM!” Alune screams, but already she can see her brother’s hand reaching out, moving ever closer, and she is certain if Aphelios makes contact, that against whatever will be unleashed, the holy water will be as insignificant as a breath in a gale, and it’s clear her brother is insensible to logic now. And so, on his behalf, she makes a decision.

It takes a second before Aphelios understands what’s happening, why he’s suddenly stopped when he’s only inches from his lover—Alune has only had to pour her power through him like this once before. And even with his exceptional strength and fitness, the overflow had wrecked him for weeks, and it’s even possible that unnaturally channeling the Moon’s power like this could kill him, forced as it is through a vessel with no spiritual ability. As such, it’s a feeling he’ll never forget, but by the time he’s levitating off the floor, it’s already too late.

The Lunari surges with a burst of the Moon’s power, an explosion of moonlight that hones into a missile, aimed straight for Sett, who sees it coming and weakly raises a hand, as if that could stop it at all.

“NO!” Aphelios cries out, shredding his vocal chords, but the blast is irrevocable, and in the second it takes to travel to Sett, Aphelios prays harder than he ever has in his life that his lover is indeed an illusion, because on the chance that he is real, Aphelios will have just delivered the death blow himself. It makes it so much worse when Alune’s own doubt telegraphs through their conduit, in the moment after it’s impossible to take it back, not even she is sure she’s made the right choice.

They wait, the second stretching and distorting into a fateful eternity.

“Phel!” Sett’s voice is full of confused heartbreak, the sound that fills the worst moment of Aphelios’ life. Finally, the moonlight missile hits... 

...and Sett dissolves into wisps of green Mist.

Aphelios releases the breath he’d been holding, more a sob, as his feet make contract with the ground, followed soon after by his knees as he crumbles in total physical and emotional depletion.

But... Sett is safe, after all. That’s what matters. Aphelios almost made a grave mistake, but Alune saved him, and Sett is safe.

But his relief is short-lived because he realizes something sharp is pressing into him near his foot, and as he rises on shaking legs, staggering, he disturbs it, causing it to make a tinkling sound against the stone floor.

It is the fragmented reliquary, smashed inadvertently in the blowback of the burst of moonlight, and Aphelios looks down just in time to see the last of the glow fade from the spilt holy water.

Maniacal laughter explodes. Once again he is deafened by the clanking of heavy chains, of old metal scraping on the ground.

“Poor lost soul,” the being says, and instantly Aphelios recognizes this monstrosity as the imposter that had pretended to be Alune. But this time its terrible voice issues—real, not just in his head—from its corporeal form, filled with corruption and Mist, glowing hellishly, towering over the Lunari. As dread chills his body, Aphelios suspects that this monster has shadowed him from the moment he arrived, choosing to reveal itself in its true manifestation at very moment all hope has been lost.

As he stares up into the empty eye sockets of a grinning skull, mounted atop the corrupted body of a jailer, Aphelios understands.

He _has_ failed. He will die.

This was the premonition of his own end, this moment of confronting this demon that has bested him, that was what had echoed backward through time, Aphelios feeling its fatal ripples as they reached him while he was still safe on the docks of Buhru.

So, he was right after all. He had known this would be the end.

That this would be it.

Alune is shrieking, inconsolable. He can feel how terrified she is, how sorry she is that she is the one who accidentally broke his protection magic, how her heart is splintering now that there is little she can do but watch, so soon after her torment of being separated from him as he fought the Mist.

“…It’s not your fault, Alune,” he thinks to say, and his true heart tries to summon love so he can send it to her before he is defeated, because he’s already having trouble keeping his balance as his body gives out from the strain of channeling all that power, on top of how wrung out he was after his prolonged battle. But the noctum interferes and strips his love of its warmth, leaving the twins with nothing but a deadened freeze. 

It’s tempting, Aphelios thinks deep down. Tempting to give in, make his death quick and painless so he can at least spare his sister the false hope that he’ll succeed if he tries to escape or defend himself. Within the awful emptiness Aphelios thinks he should just let it be over, now.

…But that’s not who he is, he has been pushed to his brink before and never given up, and even though it’s almost impossible he’ll alter the inevitable end result, he decides that at the very least, he will fall fighting.

First, he must get out of the darkness, back above ground, even if it’s into the unnatural, mid-day twilight.

From within the featureless hollows of the monster’s skull, Aphelios think he hears a noise of surprise as he summons the true last dregs of his strength and dashes back up the stairs, though it is soon followed by more sadistic laughter.

Back outside in the ruined streets, he forces himself to pick up speed, though a glance backward shows the monster keeping pace with him and expending no effort at all to do so. Likely, this fiend could catch up to Aphelios now, if he so wanted, but is letting the assassin empty himself in a futile, pathetic escape attempt until the moment it decides it’s no longer entertaining.

It seems as if it won’t be very long at any rate; channeling the pure power of the Moon has borderline incapacitated Aphelios, who is being sustained through sheer power of will and adrenaline. Following the sun to where Kolli has said she’ll meet him on the Western shore, though it’s far too early for her to be there already, Aphelios manages to reach the border of the wrecked city where it gives way to the bone-like forest, though it nearly kills him to achieve even that much.

When he sees that the corrupted jailer is still right behind him, keeping up with the Lunari’s desperate fleeing with languid walking, as if the monster is on a leisurely stroll, Aphelios decides it’s time to stop running.

He comes to a halt, steadying himself and turning to confront his pursuit as he plants his feet firmly in the earth.

“Give me Severum,” he requests, even as he feels the rush of Alune’s pleas for him to keep trying to escape. “And give me Crescendum.”

“No Phel, you must run! Just run! The boat will be there, you can make it, you just need to get inside the shield once more—”

“You were wide open,” the awful voice comes again, interrupting Alune. “Ripe for plucking. Impressive, really, that you made it this far."

The monster can only be referring to the noctum. How ironic, that the thing the twins had been sure would help keep Aphelios safe had been the greatest chink in his armour.

Although his mind is still ringing with Alune’s wailing, feverishly begging him to try and escape, Aphelios is no more able to run than he would be able to fly, and soon he feels his hands close around Severum and Crescendum, which means his sister, in spite of her pleading, understands that his only hope for a miracle will be in combat. Aphelios steadies himself, bringing his guns up and configuring his body into its familiar posture, readying for a fight.

He half expects some cruel remark, some taunt from the monster, but instead it too slows to a stop, and answers Aphelios’ weapons by holding up its own glowing lantern, from which emanates profound despair. Without the creature needing to say a word, Aphelios remembers the tales of souls trapped for eternity by the cursed denizens of the Shadow Isles, and knows that, in all likelihood, that miserable lantern will soon house his defeated soul, too, forevermore.

Summoning the last of his vitality to try and fortify himself so he can put on a brave last stand, Aphelios hopes at the very least, he’ll die with a modicum of dignity.

With more laughter, sounding much more like the scraping of torture instruments than any mirthful expression, the jailer lowers the lantern and in his other hand begins swinging a sickle, its singing blade seemingly coalesced out of the Mist itself.

“You wish for a quick, dignified demise,” it finally speaks, chuckling. “But perhaps I shall slice you piece by piece, make it slow, keep you alive while I unspool your guts. I want that girl in your head to watch it all, through your eyes. Yes… I think I would like that very much.”

Ironically, the mocking words knock sense back into Aphelios.

No, he rebels instantly. Fuck dying, with dignity or otherwise. He _can’t_ give up so easily. Too many people need him to survive, need him to find Diana so _they_ can survive. He still hasn’t even been able to confirm whether or not Diana was ever here. 

And more importantly, Alune will never forgive herself if Aphelios falls here, now. Sett will never recover. The two people Aphelios cares about more than anything in the entire universe will have the rest of their lives marred by mourning for him; weak, selfish, incompetent failure though he is. He must find a way to survive…

Aphelios firms his grip around the hilts of his weapons, and with a deep breath in and out, he charges, becoming a whirlwind of blades as he dredges the last of his strength even from his very marrow in order to mount a rapid-fire attack with Severum and Crescendum. He can feel his strikes making contact, and for a hopeful second Aphelios wonders is he has been able to take the fiend off-guard once more and all is not lost…

But the hellish monster’s laughter only gets louder as Aphelios crashes hard against his physical limit, stopping his onslaught with his guns because he simply has nothing more to give. He barely has time to dodge a slow slice from the sickle, a strike sent without much effort or intent—Aphelios is a half-dead mouse being batted around by a lazy cat. But his tumbling roll is read easily by his opponent, and before the Lunari can properly get his feet back under him, they are tangled in the monster’s chains and he topples as he is yanked towards the ghostly demon.

Even now as Aphelios is being pulled toward the chain warden, Alune is still begging him to try and run, to not leave her alone in this world.

This close, dragged nearly to the devil’s feet, Aphelios has no hope of dodging this next strike, especially when it comes now with swift intent, and he thinks again how pathetic he is to have failed so spectacularly, how it may not have truly been Alune who gave voice to his deepest fears, but they have come to pass, nonetheless.

He failed because he was weak, he failed because his heart was too open and vulnerable. Maybe he should have embraced the role the Lunari permitted him to exist in, for in his inadequacy as a weapon, Alune will be robbed of her brother, too.

He stares up into the monstrous empty skull, finding no mercy there. It is the last face Aphelios will ever see.

The noctum spares him from the worst of the pain, but Aphelios can still feel the impact in his bones as the unholy blade embeds deeply in the meat of his left shoulder, and half on instinct his ruined voice cries out as the sickle is pulled, drawn through the wound instead of lifted out, instantly producing a fount of hot blood that soaks half of Aphelios’ grey coat within seconds.

Between the physical shock his body is going through, regardless of how separate his mind might be, and the incoherent delirium of grief Alune is still shrieking his head, Aphelios is having trouble gathering his thoughts. He knows now, truly, this is the end, and so he wishes he could spend it thinking of the few stretches of happiness he’s experienced, but as his vision begins to swim, all he can muster are detached vignettes; voiceless images of the scarce times he felt joy.

In his mind’s eye he sees a little boy and a girl, completely immersed in some childhood game, playing with each other under a sky filled with glittering constellations, so bright and so close the starlight competes with daytime. He sees that same girl again, grown now, and receiving the accolades of her people after she’d done something exceptional, and though he processes the feeling long-distance, Aphelios remembers how proud he had felt to be her brother.

He sees golden eyes, looking at him from above a dark scar, their gaze filled with such love that it borders on worship. He thinks with muddled incoherence how all he ever wanted was to find a way to return that love.

In his mind’s eye he sees the little silver ring, shining on his own finger in soft lamplight as he feels the warmth of being held and cuddled.

As the abomination named Thresh lifts his sickle, Aphelios surrenders and shuts his eyes, praying that, somehow, he’ll be allowed to just die, because he would infinitely prefer oblivion over his soul being trapped, with nothing but his overwhelming guilt and the weight of his failure as sustenance.

There is a _swoosh_ as the sickle is brought down.

But it screeches as it meets with something other than flesh, and what he thinks is a woman’s voice yelling _back, fiend!_ is enough to pull Aphelios from his descent into darkness, and with incredible effort he blinks his eyes open to see the truly impossible.

Standing above him, shielding the both of them with the pure light of the Moon, is Diana.


	4. First Quarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, the update is finally here. Unfortunately once I started writing it, it became really clear that this segment needed to be its own chapter, so I apologize that the lore resolution and Targon stuff hinted at on twitter and in review replies will have to wait for next time. But I hope you enjoy this chunky update with its turbo angst and moments of wholesomeness too. I have to say I am fantasizing about the next chapters, where my poor sons can finally begin to heal a little and then I can drown them in fluff lol.
> 
> A warning I'd like to flag again:  
> Even though I think it's still covered under "graphic depictions of violence," please be warned that this chapter has descriptions of blood, wounds and vomiting. While I really tried not to be gross or gratuitous, Aphelios was hurt very badly and so his situation is treated with appropriate gravity.
> 
> Lastly, while this story attempts to be faithful to the lore of all League games, fellow nerds out there might notice I've gone with Diana's appearance as she is in her LoL splash, not LoR where she has silver eyes or Wild Rift where she has purple ones :^) This house is a purple-eyed Aphelios supremacy, he's got the monopoly on it because I make the rules.

* * *

  
**FIRST QUARTER  
  
**

* * *

“Run!” Diana urges Aphelios, though the millisecond glance she spares over her shoulder as she raises her sword to parry a slice from Thresh tells her it’s impossible. Frightening amounts of blood are gushing from his wound, his face woozy and too-pale, his legs crumpled beneath him. 

She grits her teeth as she wonders if she was too late after all; although she’s at no risk of losing this fight, neither can she vanquish Thresh quickly enough, and if he does not relent in his attacks, there’s no way she can retreat with Aphelios. Diana would have to drop her guard to assist the Lunari—who looks like he’ll need to be carried at this point—and the assassin is at serious risk of dying if his wound remains untreated for much longer.

Disgraceful, she thinks of herself. Unforgivable. 

That in running, in trying to prevent the loss of the life of one so precious to her, she has led this innocent man, whose life is equally precious, to his demise. In fact, much more than Aphelios would ever assume, she feels affection for him; he’s hardly a stranger to her with all the information she’s picked up about her pursuer after all these years, and so it makes it even worse that’s she going to be so directly responsible for how his life ends.

Thresh must see her predicament for himself, because even as it’s clear he can’t best her, he laughs victoriously as he strikes again and again, busying her until Aphelios’ eyes go unfocused and he slumps, fainting into the black dirt.

“That one is mine,” he hisses, perverse glee serrating his hideous voice. “There is no escape.”

Though unwilling to dignify this monster with a response, Diana knows he’s right, but—

 _Wham!_ Diana’s senses are filled with the clang of metal hitting corrupted bone, and a blinding, disorienting flash of golden light, she has no idea what’s happening or the reason for the explosion, though the pandemonium is immediately pierced by a demonic shriek from the chain warden. If the colour of the light had been quicksilver and not warm gold, Diana would have been sure it was divine intervention from Mother Moon, but the source of the chaos is very terrestrial and reveals itself a moment later to be a young woman running full pelt towards the three of them, arm on the downswing from having thrown a bullseye shot into the side of Thresh’s face with a reliquary full of holy water.

“I’ll take Mr. Aphelios back to my boat!” the woman yells in order to be heard over Thresh’s enraged screaming, the monster is clawing at its own fleshless skull as the holy water sizzles, though he’s already showing signs of recovering. In another moment the girl has reached them. Despite not knowing who this person is or how she’s found them, it’s clear she’s here to help (and that she seems to know who Diana is, too) and so Diana forms a split-second plan.

“I’ll cover you and follow after,” she shouts back, and already Diana has to parry a ferocious slice, this time delivered with clear fury and fierce intent to harm. Undeterred and fully trusting the Aspect of the Moon to take care of things, the stranger hefts the unconscious Lunari onto her back, careful as she can be with his wounded left side.

“Good!” their rescuer declares before setting off at a run again, zipping away as quickly as she came.

A demonic screech rends the very air as Thresh sees his prize being spirited away, slipping from his clutches, because he knows Diana will defend the retreat and even in this miserable place of despair and doom, he has insufficient power to be able to prevent her from doing so.

Now, it is Diana busying Thresh, duelling him to buy time for the woman to reach the coast while her opponent grows ever more openly, vocally frustrated. Finally, after the passage of about five minutes, Diana decides it’s time for their game to end.

“Would that I could send you to your true grave to rot,” she taunts him, summoning spheres of pure moonlight that orbit her. “But I will content myself with making sure he lives a long and healthy life far from your cursed lantern instead.”

With that, she detonates the orbs against the enraged warden in a burst of white light, then lets the Moon’s power surge through her with ease as she turns ephemeral, dashing far out of the reach of Thresh’s vicious sickle.

* * *

Aphelios’ consciousness brushes to the surface, though his senses are heavily muffled and he is terribly disoriented. He manages to open his eyes long enough to see the afternoon sky above—the real one, the one filled with fluffy clouds and sunshine and warmth; not the dark, joyless shroud of the Shadow Isles—and though his vision has a hard time tracking, he forces it slowly from the sky down to the sail of Kolli’s boat, full of summer wind, and then to the source of a happy, kind voice that speaks beside him, almost in the same moment that Alune says identical words in his head.

“You’re awake,” Kolli looks at him with a smile, her steady hand on the tiller. 

Even though he’s still utterly detached from reality and can’t quite remember where he just came from or why he’d have been asleep, the intense, loving relief flooding from his sister and the peacefulness of his surroundings tells him that he’s safe. 

“You’re safe,” Kolli seemingly reads his mind. “Patched up for now. On your way back to Buhru. And, don’t get excited or riled up, but... look,” she juts her chin out in the direction of the sailboat’s bow, waiting patiently for Aphelios’ sluggish, heavily lidded gaze to follow. “You did it.”

If it weren’t for Kolli confirming the sight was real, Aphelios would be sure that the white-haired woman gazing back at him with an unreadable expression in her milky eyes is some kind of delusion.

Diana.

Even though he is still in the clutches of the noctum, he feels. As Alune begins to weep happily, he can feel her speechless amazement, how much she loves him, and how proud of him she is. But most of all, he feels an incredible, undefinable sense of heaviness leave him. He feels… light, weightless.

And then, tired.

“Rest now,” Kolli tells him, and again it would be like she’s read his mind except his blinks are getting long and languid and he knows it must be obvious he’s exhausted.

“Yes, Phel,” Alune agrees affectionately, though her voice is already distorted at the edges where it’s competing with the pull of the celestial veil, the noctum’s fade hastened by Aphelios’ sweating and bleeding and running.

“You did it. You did so well. You can rest now.”

Unresisting, he listens, and permits himself the release of sleep.

* * *

Aphelios’ second re-entry into consciousness is far less gentle. Chased by nightmares—perhaps some spectres have managed to trail him from the Shadow Isles after all—and worse than any monster is a terrible suffocating feeling, like he’s sinking into quicksand and the harder he thrashes the more insistently it encloses him, presses the breath out of him… it is the claustrophobic feeling of failure.

He jolts awake with a violence, again disoriented by the openness of the sea and night sky all around him, because the dark realm of his nightmares feels so much more real than this. Surely this calmness, the peaceful ocean and the warm wind, the two women observing him with deep concern… these are the illusions and he will slip back into his eternal purgatory the moment he closes his eyes again.

Finally, when the scene persists and even after blinking and catching his breath he remains firmly and safely on the boat, he processes more of his circumstances.

Diana looks back at him wordlessly as he stares at her, confirming she exists and isn’t some phantom he’s wasted his adult life chasing. Were he off the noctum he’d have room to feel discomfort; Diana’s eyes seem to reflect the moonlight in much the same way that the wide pupils of a nocturnal predator will catch the light and flash in the dark. Having been too young and irrelevant to have been permitted to meet her during her brief encounter with the Lunari before she’d inexplicably fled, Aphelios had had little idea of who or what to expect beyond what he’d been told second-hand about Diana. A woman with long, bone-white hair and the sigil of an eclipse tattooed over her Seer’s eye, that was about it. But now that she’s in front of him it’s so clear she’s not entirely human that it’s laughable how they’d all been worried she’d die in the Shadow Isles before Aphelios ever found her. Thresh may have been able to enter and dissect the Lunari’s mind and destroy his hope with ease, but even a monster like that was no match for a demi-god.

More concretely, he looks down at his own body and then questioningly at Kolli, waiting for her to explain the gap in his memory that would account for why he’s swaddled—imprisoned, really—in a heavy blanket despite the tropical heat that endures even at night-time. She stops him as he automatically struggles to free his arms from the thick folds of the cloth, and when Kolli shushes him and kindly tells him to relax, that’s when he also notices a massive dark brown stain that covers the left side of her tunic, illuminated in the light of the lantern hanging from the mast.

As an assassin, he’s far too familiar with what old blood looks like, and panic sparks dimly in his belly.

“I’m fine, I wasn’t the one hurt,” she reassures him. Seriously. _Did_ she have secret mind-reading abilities? “But you look like you don’t remember what happened.”

He can feel Alune waiting in his mind to hear the explanation as well, as she too had lost much of her connection to the physical realm once her brother’s senses had shut down. He stills, but underneath the smother of the noctum, in the pit of his stomach, he can feel slight fizzing nausea replacing the panic. Part of him wants to stop Kolli from telling him, he doesn’t want to know or risk remembering anything with any specificity, ignorance would absolutely be bliss, but he can’t speak to tell her to wait so he can gather his thoughts. In any case, Alune’s desire to know is overwhelming and so he caves into it with a weak shake of his head.

“You fought Thresh, you crazy man!” Kolli’s sudden chiding takes everyone by surprise. “I told you to be careful, but you didn’t even have the reliquary when I found you! And I had to throw my emergency one at Thresh’s face!”

Wait… that means Kolli had…

“Yes, don’t tell on me to the priests but I broke the rules,” the acolyte grins suddenly. Maybe Aphelios doesn’t even need his notebook if Kolli is going to keep emulating telepathy like this. “When I heard you cry out I knew it must be very bad, especially for you to use your voice, and I’m not one to sit around while someone screams for help, no matter what my elders may have forced me to promise.

“But listen, it was Miss Diana who saved you, I didn’t get there in time. Thresh looked like he was ready to make mincemeat out of you and you had already fainted—oh, that’s right. Your shoulder. He got you in your shoulder, very deep. Into the bone I think. But when I dressed the wound for you it looked like you’ll still be able to use your arm if you let it heal properly.

“That’s why the blanket, too. You went into shock, lots of blood lost.” She pulls at the stained fabric on her body. “This is all yours. You’re going to need to take it easy for a loooong time, but I know all kinds of people on the islands who can help you heal, good as new.”

This onslaught of information, meandering and shallow, is almost worse than an intense disclosure of all the gory details. Aphelios is silent for a while as he sorts it all out, how Kolli had risked her own life and in violation of the strict rules her superior had sworn her to. Presumably, if she had gotten Aphelios’ blood all over her, she would have been the one to carry him on her back, out of hell itself. It makes sense… while he does have a vague recollection of Diana shielding him, there would have been no way for one person to fight the jailer off while also managing to get him to safety.

Without both of these women, Aphelios would be a corpse, growing cold in the black earth of the Shadow Isles.

A chill passes through him, a sign he’s really beginning to reconnect with the physical sensation in his body, the numbness of the noctum is beginning to fall away… in this case, he’d much rather stay unfeeling. He’s not quite able to feel pain yet, but there is a pressure in his left shoulder, an awful tightness and heat that he’s sure will bloom into full-on agony once the poison has filtered from his body.

Kolli seems to be on the cusp of chattering more, but she catches sight of Aphelios’ fretting and stops herself. For her part, Diana seems content to sit as silently as if she’s the ship’s figurehead, carved into the inanimate wood itself. It’s disconcerting, and very far away in some inarticulate place in his brain, Aphelios decides he doesn’t like her, which feels wrong given that she’s the promised one of his faith, and though he knows he also has plenty of words that must still be shared with the woman, when they are both more amenable to speaking.

As he gingerly extricates himself from the blankets Kolli does not stop him this time, though she intently supervises him, making sure he’s going slow enough he won’t re-open his wounds. Once he’s out and sitting up, the nausea percolating in his tummy surges.

His naked torso is ghastly. Enough that, before she can stifle it, he feels Alune gasp in horror.

As he looks down he sees a multitude of bandages, expertly packed and wrapped around his shoulder and chest and reeking of herbal magic, but they are already showing crimson dots where fresh blood is oozing through, and old blood is smeared all over any purple and white skin uncovered by gauze. The entirety of his left arm is red and brown; trickles of blood have crusted, dried in patterns that tell him how he must have been laying as they coagulated. Nowhere is clean, even underneath his nails he finds blood, probably his glove will be full of it from how it flowed and flowed and flowed out of his body, as if it all had wished to leave him and fertilize the cursed soil of the Shadow Isles instead.

…It’s almost like a sense of vertigo, realizing once again how close he had been to dying. To failing…

…He had been so close. If Diana had decided not to intervene. If Kolli wasn’t such a capable, brave rule-breaker. If Thresh hadn’t decided to toy with him like that and instead had gone for a vital organ or for his throat or just straight for his soul, like he easily could have. Aphelios had been a hair’s breadth from death, and he would have left Alune alone and weeping in the spirit realm, especially unbearable because he can still sense her poorly hidden guilt over accidentally smashing the reliquary. And he would have left Sett, who, if Aphelios knows anything about his fiancé, will be waiting at the docks already, watching the horizon for their return. Sett would have caught sight of the boat, perhaps with intense, optimistic relief, to then see that the craft was bearing only one of its two original occupants.

The end had been so close.

Unaccountably, it still feels close, like it’s following in the gurgling wake of the sailboat, ready to slither up and steal Aphelios for real, the moment he lets his guard down. Though the rest is a black void of unconsciousness, he so vividly remembers the impact of Thresh’s sickle, cleaving into his flesh, it’s almost like the blade is still embedded. _This_ , the boat, Kolli, Diana; this is the dream and he’ll be woken from it when the demon jailer yanks his blade, reeling Aphelios back to the Shadow Isles where he’ll be trapped for eternity…

The sensation of nausea spikes and with it Aphelios suddenly feels dizzy, and cold all over. At the very least, it helps ground him back in his physical body, as much as that’s possible with the noctum, demanding his focus on how awful he’s beginning to feel and not on unbearable hypotheticals.

He settles back under the blanket, into the corner of the boat Kolli had arranged for him, luckily he’s still not sensitive enough that lying on an old canvas sail as a mattress is really bothersome. He would like to know how much longer till they get back, but even the prospect of return offers little prickling needles of concern, and he’s in no condition to find his notebook to write in anyway, too bad Kolli isn’t truly able to read minds.

Of course he wants to return. There’s even a tiny part of him that won’t be soothed until he sees his lover safe and in the flesh, even though logically he knows the dying Sett in the vault was just another illusory trap.

But there’s a real danger that when he does see Sett, his safe haven, his sanctuary… the frayed threads stitching him together will snap completely.

* * *

“If you insist on waiting here all day and now all night, let me at least get you some food, lad. No rule says you also have to starve while you pine.”

Sett acknowledges Kirin with a rude grunt. He might physically be on an east-facing Buhru dock with his eyes locked on the dark horizon, but mentally, Sett is in hell.

His lieutenant clucks his tongue with disgust and gives up on waiting for his employer’s permission to go, leaving the beast-man to his solitary (and in his opinion, extremely premature) watch, with plans to find some portable nourishment and cram it down Sett’s gullet himself if he has to.

For his part, Sett will be damned if he misses the moment Aphelios comes back, and so he’s been hanging around the docks since noon, despite being depleted from an essentially sleepless night, and despite knowing that it is literally physically impossible for Aphelios and Kolli to make a round trip in anything less than about seventeen hours, and that would be not including any time spent in the actual Shadow Isles.

Still, with a delirious mix of hope, dread and desperation, Sett watches hawk-eyed for any sign of incoming crafts, several times enduring the agonizing torture of being sure the small sailboat making port was the one carrying his fiancé, only to watch its unfamiliar occupants come into focus and disembark on business wholly unrelated to the Vastayan and his beloved.

Something does manage to pull his attention from where the sea meets the indigo line of the now dark night sky; at first, he thinks it’s a weird way the full moon is catching on the waves, until the two light spots _blink_. He watches as their owner breaches the waves, a being with a humanoid, child-sized body, but green in flesh and its head crowned with tines of coral.

Having witnessed the crepuscular transition of the docks, Sett’s already seen all manner of creatures and critters in the water and otherwise, but it’s clear this one has surfaced with the intention to speak with him.

“Wishing you could breathe underwater?” it asks once Sett makes eye contact.

Inane chatter is just about the last thing Sett wants to manage right now, but there’s something sweet and guileless about the being that persuades him to gentle his reply.

“Nah. I’m waitin’ for someone.”

“Oh yeah? I hope they come soon, you’ve been here a while, just staring at the sea.”

Sett sighs. “Yeah, feels like forever.”

The being tilts its head where it’s treading water with ease, regarding Sett. “I like your ears.”

Taken a little off-guard, the corner of Sett’s scarred lips quirk up. This little being acts and speaks exactly like any kid back home would, and he’s always had a soft spot for children, especially the bratty ones who spoke their minds plainly.

“Well, here,” Sett says, moving one of his massive arms away from where it had been crossed on his chest. “You’ll love this.”

He lets his magic ignite on his hand, and sure enough the creature makes a sound of delight, its large, glowing eyes catching the gleam of the Vastayan fire.

“Very cool!” the little one declares before abruptly diving down.

Sett laughs to himself. Just like a kid to get distracted or run off in the middle of a conversation, without saying a proper good-bye. At least it took his mind off things for an entire two minutes.

He’s just settling back into his surveillance of the ocean, realizing off-handedly how much his ass hurts from sitting on an old barrel for hours, when just as suddenly as it first appeared and disappeared, the being pops back up, this time gripping onto the edge of the dock and heaving itself up a little so it can plop something on the planks with a wet, amphibious sound.

“Here ya go,” it says before flicking its finger against the object, causing it to roll across the wood to bounce off one of Sett’s shoes. Before he can react, the creature again departs with a boisterous splash and a “see ya!”

As Sett leans down to pick up the gift—some kind of pearl or something—the silence is interrupted again, this time by a passerby, dressed in temple garb and with a local accent.

“I’ll give you a thousand gold krakens for that,” they offer without preamble. When Sett looks back at them with confusion, the stranger automatically elaborates. “Do you even know what you’ve got there?”

Sett shakes his head.

“I saw that coral creature give it to you. They only give aethergems to people when it pleases them, which is rarely.”

Sett rolls the little sphere, the aethergem, around in the palm of his hand. Even just under the light of the moon, it soaks up the light and refracts it like sunbeams through water. It’s beautiful. But Sett likes money more.

“A thousand krakens you said?” he asks before his business instincts pique and he considers that this person might be low-balling him. “Wait, what are these good for anyway?”

The stranger scoffs, clearly unimpressed that this foreigner who doesn’t even know enough that he has to ask about aethergems also has the dumb luck to be blessed with one.

“Keeps the owner safe at sea,” they explain tartly, enough that Sett’s intuition confirms that he is definitely being low-balled and there’s more to it. It would be wise to wait to ask someone less likely to try and fleece him, maybe Kirin will know or he can even ask the kraken girl when she comes back, if he remembers.

“Well?” the stranger prompts, glowering when Sett shakes his head and slips the gem inside his pocket.

“…Nah. Got a lot on my mind right now ‘n I don’t wanna deal with more—”

“You don’t want to deal with a thousand golden krakens in your wallet that weren’t there before?”

If Sett had still been considering for greed’s sake, the tone this stranger has taken and the perceived judgement with which they are looking at Sett would be enough to make the Vastayan reject the deal on principle.

“Hey pal,” he fires back, sitting up to his full stature and straightening his broad shoulders—comically obvious posturing but it always gets the point across nonetheless—letting a sneer twist his features. “You assume I ain’t already got more gold than I know what to do with. So, like I said, I got a lot on my mind, and I’m gonna sit here ‘n get back to mindin’ my own business, like you should.”

The person grumbles, and as they walk off they mutter a few words in Buhruan, which, of course, Sett assumes are probably some slur about his mixed heritage or something equally offensive. Even though his temper is sore at the unanswered insult to his pride, he takes no action, it’s not like he’s going to do something that'll get him embroiled in a fight when Aphelios could potentially be returning any time now. After a moment of calming himself down he also remembers what Kirin had explained to him earlier, that the perceived prejudice the Buhruans (especially those affiliated with the Temple) seemed to be treating him with might have less to do with his red ears and more with the fact that he was a foreigner with an apparent perpetual bad attitude and little reverence, characteristics that would instantly sour any member of this insular, faithful culture, and understandably so. After all (Kirin had pointed out in an attempt to drive his point home) yes, Aphelios was fully human, but it was also once he’d demonstrated his respectful, unassuming demeanour that he’d been answered with frigid but obvious courtesy. Thinking on this, Sett spits into the ocean, perhaps to put a fine point on just how surly he was capable of being.

Although… it’s not as if Sett really derives pleasure from being a shithead, especially not around Aphelios. Visiting all these places, under less dire circumstances, Sett could see himself making an effort to behave and observe any customs, but it’s hard when he’s wound up so tightly. And especially _because_ of Phel’s (sometimes excessively) respectful and unassuming demeanour, Sett had been stressed out that without pushback they’d be treated like doormats or non-entities. In fact, he’s still conflicted about whether or not he should have insisted more forcefully about better protection for Aphelios than just that one little girl, and after the tenth time of mulling over this doubt out loud, Kirin had guaranteed him that absolutely would have blown the whole deal and demanded he please finally shut up about it.

It’s all moot now anyway, Sett thinks as he sags back onto his harsh, hard barrel seat; for some reason he welcomes the physical ache as opposed to searching for something less brutal, it would feel like a disconnect to try and make himself comfy while his heart is still in such turmoil.

It will either have been enough, and Aphelios will come back, or it will have failed and the gentle, intelligent light that Phel uniquely brought to the world will have been snuffed out. Sett tries to assure himself that their souls are so intertwined that he’d _know_ if something had happened to his fiancé, but when he’d said as much to Kirin, after being sure that, when he’d bolted awake from a fitful drowse around eleven that morning with his heart racing and breath stolen, that something awful _had_ happened to Phel, the old man had shut the fanciful notion down, reminding Sett that getting maudlin with sentimental mumbo-jumbo like that wasn’t going to help anybody, he’d just had a bad sleep.

Nevertheless, as Sett glances up to the full moon staring down at him like a lidless eye, he figures he might as well hedge his bets and sends a distinctly sentimental prayer filled with ‘mumbo-jumbo,’ begging Aphelios’ Mother Moon to make up for the many years she’s spent doing fuck all—Sett hastily revises this part in case she _is_ a deity who will take offense—for the many years she has permitted her devoted follower to live a life of such deprivation and coldness with little reprieve or reward. The least she can do is not let his special life be wasted just because whoever she chose as her Aspect couldn’t be assed to actually stay and fulfill her celestial destiny.

Just as he heaves a heavy sigh and thinks bitterly about how unlikely it is for Phel’s already useless moon god to listen to the prayers of an iconoclast like him, a tiny light gutters into view on the horizon.

Instantly, Sett’s pupils blow wide, his Vastayan eyes allowing him to see with far greater clarity than any human. It’s still too far to make out details, but the boat’s silhouette is right, the timing is right too, if Phel was able to leave quickly and didn’t need the whole day, and hopefully that’s a good sign, and Sett’s heart is already in his throat and he’s seriously considering swimming out to meet the boat like a lunatic, but there’s a substantial chance that it’s just another seafarer returning home and not the love of Sett’s life…

…But a few breathless minutes pass and then Sett can make out two passengers, one whose white hair catches the moonlight.

Diana. It could be no one else.

Holy shit.

Aphelios had succeeded, just like Sett had known he was capable of, even in this universe that seemed to be conspiring against him, he’d found the salvation of his people.

But in the next moment Sett’s mouth goes dry because it’s _only_ two people. In all likelihood it’s Kolli who’s at the tiller, because even though Aphelios is amazing and incredible it’s not plausible that he’d have learned how to sail, much less how to navigate the waters between the two archipelagos using the stars and moon alone… if the salvation of the Lunari had somehow come at the cost of Aphelios’ life…

No, Sett decides. Life is cruel and unfair, but it can’t be that cruel and unfair. It just can’t be… for that would be beyond bearing.

Then, the beast-man’s agonized heart skips a beat as a third person materializes, rising stiffly and slowly from where they must have been laying on the deck. Their movements bear none of Aphelios’ usual grace or fluidity, but now the wind’s picked up and maybe Sett’s frustrated lunar plea was actually heard because the little boat is speeding towards port and the weary Vastayan is at serious risk of weeping when he confirms beyond all doubt that the third passenger is his Phel, he’d recognize the outline of those broad shoulders and that narrow waist anywhere.

It’s Phel, his heartlight is alive, he’s survived the indomitable Shadow Isles, and Sett can’t help it as his eyes begin to water and he starts laughing, nearly hysterical with his immense relief.

But it’s somewhat short-lived, his super-sensory vision also soon discerns the dark discolouration of half of Aphelios’ usually pristine, slate grey coat, and now Sett can also see that the left sleeve is hanging slack and empty. Too familiar with violence and injuries from a life lived in the fighting pits, Sett’s stomach plummets as he realizes Aphelios has been wounded.

But still, he’s alive, and he can stand on his own, and now the boat is close enough that its occupants might be able to see Sett too, and he rushes to stand under the aura of a gas-lit lantern to make sure they do, unable to stop himself from waving, first with one arm and then with both. He laughs again when he sees Aphelios answer the wave with his own, albeit with only his right arm and nowhere near as enthusiastic as Sett’s crazed greeting.

The Vastayan only just manages to keep himself from shouting out too, and it’s a miracle that he’s even able to endure the couple more minutes it takes for the boat to finally dock without fully losing his mind.

Sett’s already there, catching the mooring line Kolli throws out, his knuckles growing white as he clutches it too hard. Because now he can see that something is horribly wrong with his fiancé, that’s old blood soaked into half of his coat, Aphelios looks nearly dead, his pale skin normally so luminous under the moonlight has the lustre and colour of ashes, and instead of the smiling, tearful reunion Sett had envisioned, the Lunari is just staring up at Sett with a shell-shocked, vacant gaze.

“Phel,” Sett speaks, tremulous voice cracking with emotion.

Instead of clarity or recognition, this pet name produces a look of pain on Aphelios’ face, and as if neither Diana nor Kolli even exist Sett drops the mooring line and steps into the boat himself, rushing up to Aphelios, leaving Kolli to grasp at the dock and secure the ship without help.

Something is so wrong.

“…Bunny... are you okay?” A stupid question with an obvious answer, but when Aphelios gives a little shake of his head ‘no’ and his face crumples into tears, Sett seizes the Lunari to him, though he is careful with Aphelios’ obviously injured left side.

Sett knows his lover better than he knows himself, and he sees that Aphelios is breaking, and knows he would want to be in private, not in front of others like this in such a state of vulnerability, especially in front of Diana who is observing the interaction with interest so intense it feels rude.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” Sett coos, solemn and protective, instantly pushing aside his own devastated emotions. “I’ll help you get out of here, to somewhere quiet, ‘kay?”

Now, Sett can see the tears limning Phel’s dark eyes, violet lost to exhaustion. All Aphelios can reply with as he leans heavily into Sett’s side is a faint, defeated nod.

Though it’s incredibly tempting to pick him up and carry him back to their quarters on their rented ship, Sett also knows that Aphelios would also find that mortifying, and so he holds Phel to his side, supporting as much of his weight as he can while still letting the Lunari technically remain on his own two feet, though disembarking is a challenge.

Sett’s mind is so singularly focused on getting Aphelios to where the other will feel safe that he doesn’t fully realize he’s just abandoned the two women in the boat until he meets a returning Kirin halfway down the dock. The old man doesn’t need to ask any questions, analyzing the situation instantly, acknowledging Aphelios with a bow of his head and nothing more.

“We’re goin’ back to the ship,” Sett tells him, “meet us there after you find the best doctor on this island and make sure they know it’s an emergency.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “’n make sure you bring Diana back with you and sort out whatever needs sorting with Kolli.”

“Aye,” Kirin confirms immediately, and then pressing the bundle of food he’d brought back into Sett’s free hand, “take this, in case the lad needs something to eat.”

Sett nods gratefully but grimly, feeling Aphelios begin to tremble against him. “Be quick, Kirin. Be real quick.”

* * *

Astonishingly, Aphelios somehow manages to hold himself together through the brief wait for the doctor; Kirin, assisted by Kolli and trailing a still-silent Diana had worked a near miracle and found a talented doctor who was aboard the rented ship, attending to Aphelios within twenty minutes, and through the medical ministrations which take substantially longer. Bowl after bowl of clean freshwater has to be brought, Aphelios is covered in so much dried blood it feels like it takes ages to clean, and the cleansing water is so quickly turned deep red.

He is silent and unmoving as the doctor removes his bandages, unresponsive even when the doctor sutures the wound without anaesthesia. Sett feels like he’s going to vomit when he sees the damage done to Aphelios’ left shoulder, not because of the gore or blood, but because its depth and the evident savagery with which it was delivered make him sick to his stomach. He’s dying to know the details, how something like this could have happened, but it will have to wait until Aphelios can handle it or Sett gets an explanation from one of the women. For now, he concentrates on absorbing the doctor’s hushed instructions while never quite allowing his sight to leave Aphelios, who’s laying on the bed with the demeanour of a broken doll.

“He’ll need days of bedrest, possibly a week, and as soon as he can stomach it he needs to begin eating again, broths if he can’t keep solids down,” the doctor explains quietly, though it’s hardly necessary because it’s not like Aphelios doesn’t realize the seriousness for himself, and he barely looks sentient, much less capable of listening in on his prognosis. “And after that, the arm stays in a sling until the wound heals closed, stitches out in two weeks.”

Sett breathes deeply, mastering his emotions so Aphelios can rely on him. His feelings and reactions are irrelevant right now, they can wait.

“But…” the doctor continues, dropping her voice even lower. “The worst damage seems to be mental. He’s in shock, definitely due to blood loss, but I’d guess more so due to some kind of psychological trauma. I’ll leave you with a sedative mixture as well as the tinctures to fight pain and infection, but… he’ll need someone there for him, emotionally. He’s in a very… precarious state.”

From her tone and halting speech it’s clear the doctor is being careful with her words, most likely resorting to euphemisms since Aphelios can still hear them, even if he’s not really listening. It’s the dire look on the doctor’s face that basically tells Sett everything he needs to know. In all probability, Aphelios was unfathomably lucky to survive what he had.

“I’ll take care of him, I’ll take care of everything,” Sett promises, deliberately not whispering back because he hopes his confidence will reassure Aphelios. “Talk to Kirin about payment, and we’ll see ya again tomorrow for a check-up, right?”

The doctor confirms, brushing off Sett’s genuine thank-you and hesitating only a moment before saying what’s been on her mind the whole time.

“…This is the man I’ve heard about around the Temple… right?”

It's the silent addendum, the ‘is this the man who went to the Shadow Isles’ that is the real question. And when Sett withholds an answer, that in itself is answer enough.

“Truly lucky to be alive,” she says as she takes her leave, as if she honestly can’t comprehend how the circumstances of her newest patient are even possible.

Finally, Sett and Aphelios are alone.

Trying to decide what to do next is so overwhelming it's almost paralyzing, but after considering, Sett decides to just be himself, Aphelios needs normalcy right now, and so he sits carefully on the bed, clasping Aphelios’ right hand in both of his.

He’s just about to speak when awareness flickers across Aphelios’ face, like he’s finally rejoined this realm and his own body after spending the last half an hour far, far away, and before the beast-man can decide on what to say next or get any of the words out, Aphelios pulls his one good hand away, signing clumsily and spelling what can’t be communicated one-handedly.

_You’re safe? You’re okay?_

The question is completely confusing, given it’s coming from the one who was maimed and traumatized, and it’s only after he replies that of course he is, that Sett realizes something must have happened to make Aphelios doubt such a fact.

 _Hold me_ , Aphelios begs, breaking Sett’s heart.

There’s a moment, the calm before the storm breaks, when Sett lies down next to his lover and gingerly lays his palm on Aphelios’ stomach, too scared to properly hold him and aggravate the freshly sutured wound. But after Aphelios signs with an edge of panicked insistence _tighter_ Sett obeys and encloses the smaller man in the enfolds of his embrace, and then break the storm does.

It starts with tremours that rack Aphelios’ body, shaking that only seems to soothe when Sett tightens his hold as much as he’s willing given Phel’s injury, but these tremblings are merely the ripples that precede the tsunami of tears; Aphelios’ body empties itself, seemingly down to the marrow with ceaseless, hoarse sobbing, voiceless wailing that's coming so deeply from the Lunari's soul that it's almost scary, but even this purging is incomplete until Aphelios suddenly struggles against Sett’s arms, scrambling out of the bed just in time to vomit into a waste water bucket, though nothing but bile rises, he hasn’t eaten anything in the past day.

Watching with alarm as the Lunari’s body behaves as if its intention is to utterly wring itself inside out, Sett begins to consider summoning the doctor again, he feels too helpless and scared. He’s seen all manner of carnage throughout his years in the pits, but still he is shocked to his core by the pallor in Aphelios’ skin, a colour Sett’s only seen on cadavers, as if he’s got no blood left at all and is animated only by sheer force of will, his purple tattoos grey with exsanguination; shocked by the brutality with which his body is trying to throw up, like it wants Phel to throw up his insides if there’s nothing else it can give, though there still seems to be a fount of tears and sweat it’s expunging instead.

Sett is so frightened that he’s just about to shout for help, because there’s no way he’ll leave Aphelios alone during this vicious emptying, his body hardly even permitting him to fill it with little breaths, when all of a sudden Aphelios settles a little; like enough of his willpower has returned that he can begin to control his body and not the other way around. The Vastayan can hear him trying to regulate his breath, and so he holds off on summoning assistance.

Sure enough, Aphelios’ hyperventilation begins slowing in the spaces between throwing up and crying that are getting longer and longer, helped even more when Sett lays his heavy hand on Phel’s back and strokes. Something about the pressure of touch appears to be calming the young man the most, and the Sett can certainly relate, so he makes sure that, while he is still exceedingly careful of the wounded shoulder, that he doesn’t keep the weight out of his caresses or hugs.

Finally, Aphelios recovered enough that he is able to sign again, though his hand moves slowly and shakily.

 _I’m sorry,_ he tells Sett, gulping and sniffling, looking at the beast-man through swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“Huh?” his lover is bewildered. “Sorry for what, bunny? You ain’t go nothin’ to be sorry for! Don’t waste energy tellin’ me your sorry, you just keep breathin’ nice and long, just like that.”

Aphelios looks like he’s going to get emotional again, panicking Sett, but bravely and remarkably he staves it off, rubbing at his eyes, and when he takes his hand away Sett now also notices just how severe and deep the black circles under his eyes are.

_But I am sorry. I’m scaring you. And we should… this should have been a happy time._

“Phel, no!” Sett cries out in disbelief. “Don’t be apologizin’ for somethin’ like that! You made it through hell and back, and you even found Diana. You literally did the impossible! ‘N you ain’t scarin’ me,” he lies, and Aphelios graciously lets him.

“’N I _am_ happy. Well, no, I ain’t happy you’re sufferin’ like this, but you know what I mean. I’m happy you’re here. I’m happy you’re still in this world, mooncake.”

He shifts to sit flush against the Lunari’s side where he’s perched on the edge of the foot of the bed, wrapping a thick arm around Aphelios’ waist. “’N you’ve earned whatever you need. If you need to cry, you get it all out sweetheart, and you know you’ll always have my shoulder. Hell, you shoulda seen _me_ last night, crying like a little baby, and I wasn’t even the one riskin’ my hide to save an entire people.”

Sett’s heart leaps when Aphelios looks up at him and manages a frail smile.

“If only I could take some,” Sett murmurs adoringly down at him. “I’d cry for you so you’d only have to cry half as much.”

It’s seeing the warmth, the infinitude of love that Sett has for him, written so plainly all over his face, that is the balm of Aphelios’ anguished soul, and finally, he feels true, calm safety.

 _I love you_ , Aphelios signs before slumping into Sett and allowing the beast-man to guide them both back into laying down, while Sett tells him how much he loves him back and how glad he is that he’s here. Sett lays on his side and wraps himself around Phel, who is now feeling more or less like himself, but is still shivering occasionally like he’s got the chills. But when Sett recommends he gets some sleep, the Lunari vehemently protests.

_No, I don’t want to go to sleep._

“Don’t be silly sweetheart, you gotta get some rest and get better—”

_I’ll rest but I don’t want to go to sleep._

“You’re gonna have to sleep sooner or later, it’s the best way your body is gonna heal too. You can take that potion thingee the doctor left and that’ll make it real easy.”

 _No_ , Aphelios doubles down, surprising Sett, and then seeing this surprise, relents a little and explains, pain contorting his face despite his efforts to suppress it. _Just… not yet. Talk to me, please. I can’t hear Alune anymore and I don’t… I don’t want to be alone in my head right now. I… I am scared of sleeping._

Sett’s ears dip as he feels his heart clench, hurting. He presses an adoring kiss into Phel’s hair, which stinks of decay, blood and fear. Sett hasn’t stopped wondering what the hell his moon bunny had to endure, and his burning curiosity flares again at such eloquent smells, though he quells it. Someone else can explain, or Phel can when he’s ready, but it’ll have to wait.

“You’re askin’ me to talk to ya, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever had someone ask me to keep runnin’ my mouth, usually they're beggin' me to shut up.” Sett’s little joke is rewarded with some of the tension softening around Aphelios’ eyes, the ghost of a smile that doesn’t reach his lips. “’Course I can talk to ya, bunny. But can I ask… why’re you scared of sleepin’? Is it somethin’ I can watch for?”

Sett is thinking of something sinister and magical, like some kind of Shadow Isles curse, but the answer is far more straightforward and heartbreaking.

_I’m scared of the nightmares._

This time Sett does squeeze Phel to him just a little too hard as he kisses his lover’s temple, and a sharp intake of air from the pain in the wound makes the beast-man release him almost like dropping a hot coal, Sett apologizing profusely and anxious about touching him again until Aphelios insists he’d rather be held tightly.

And so Sett encloses the Lunari in the safety of his arms again, filling the silence with his chatter about anything he can think of. A few times he pulls away a little, sure that Aphelios being so quiet and still means that the younger man has fallen asleep accidentally after all, but each time he is met with fully awake, questioning eyes, that he is deeply relieved to see are starting to show their familiar, beautiful violet colour again.

When Sett somehow arrives on the topic of how he himself hated sleeping as a kid and would always give his momma a hard time until she had to resort to her ultimate weapon, an old Vastayan lullaby, he feels Aphelios’ grip squeeze on his bicep, and he lifts his head to be able to see what the Lunari wants to tell him.

_Can you sing it for me?_

“Sing what, the lullaby?” Sett chuckles. “I suck at singin’, it’s probably gonna sound like a dyin’ cat compared to the lullabies you’re used to hearin’. And I don’t know the language of Ma’s old tribe, so I’d be butchering the words.”

 _It’s not like I’ll know if they’re wrong_ —this time Aphelios gives a real smile, not wan or forced, and Sett rejoices to be able to see his fiancé coming back to himself like this— _and I just want to hear it. I’ve never heard a lullaby before_.

“What!” Sett is shocked, and, truthfully, mad at the Lunari all over again. Sett knew Aphelios hadn’t been raised by his parents, though none of the elders had ever told the twins _why_ they didn’t have parents, but even kids being reared in a religious temple shouldn’t be deprived of the experience of someone singing them to sleep.

Actually, and what only Alune knows, is that Aphelios himself used to have a lovely singing voice. He’d be the one to make little songs and sing them to her, and only to her, though he used to hum to himself when he was especially absorbed in a chore or task. This had stopped the day he’d started training as an assassin, and then made impossible once he’d begun taking the noctum.

“Well, then, sure. I’ll sing for ya. Good idea actually, ‘cause no way you’ll be able to sleep while listenin’ to me yowl.”

But as soon as Sett has finished singing it—and horribly, he thinks, he was so halting and off-key compared to his momma—Aphelios signs: _again_.

And so, the beast-man sings his childhood lullaby again, and again, and again. After the fourth time, Aphelios doesn’t even sign his request, he just taps the fingertips of his free hand against Sett’s forearm, and the pit fighter begins once more. The low rumble of Sett’s voice, the resonance across his chest that Aphelios is beginning to be able to feel in his own skin where it’s pressed against his lover and defrosting from the noctum, the lyrics that clearly have meaning but, to Aphelios, are just a collection of unfamiliar, dreamy sounds that don’t spark any associations but also leave little room for meandering thoughts… it’s all perfect.

When Sett doesn’t feel the Lunari’s tapping fingers after the eighth or ninth time, he’s about to speak to make a joke about Phel being obsessed, but stops himself just before the sound comes out. For looking down into Aphelios’ face, Sett sees the other has slipped into slumber. And so, he just keeps singing, a little quieter each time, hoping his voice, the sound of someone who adores Aphelios so deeply, reaches the Lunari’s unconscious mind and dispels any cruel, tormenting nightmares.

* * *

It doesn’t work.

That first night, Sett is torn from sleep by an unrecognizable, strange sound, but brimming with the familiar emotion of terror.

It’s Aphelios, screaming.

Sett’s own startled heartbeat is pounding in his skull, but even in his tattered, hoarse voice that his unconscious body has forgotten doesn’t work anymore, Aphelios’ screams are much louder and burrow deeply within Sett, dredging up every moment the Vastayan has ever experienced primal horror or panic himself, his soul resonating with the fear like it’s a tuning fork that’s been struck, vibrating with one bone-chilling note.

At first Sett doesn’t understand that Aphelios is still asleep—or, at least, is not conscious—because the Lunari is sitting up, ram-rod stiff. When Set puts a hand on Phel’s uninjured shoulder to gently shake him out of it, he’s shocked at the freezing clamminess of his skin, covered in icy sweat.

Touching and shushing don’t seem to be able to pierce into the hell the younger man is experiencing, and so finally Sett resorts to shouting Aphelios’ name, and finally with a full-body shudder, Aphelios wakes up.

Disoriented and terrified, he snaps his head to look at Sett, momentarily forgetting about his brutalized shoulder, and with a queasy feeling Sett sees, even in the dim lamplight, how all the blood rushes out of Phel’s face as he winces and nearly passes out from the pain, Sett reaching to cradle his lover to him as Aphelios sways dizzily.

“Shhh, ‘sokay, mooncake. I’m here, I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya, you’re safe.”

The beast-man’s stomach twists as the palm of his hand makes contact with Aphelios’ hair; he wants to pet it to help comfort the other, but it too is soaked with cold perspiration. Just more confronting evidence of, even now, the torture that Aphelios’ body is enduring.

Sett can’t think of much that he wouldn’t give in that moment to make it better; without question he’d switch places… anything to take this agony away from his soulmate.

Especially once he feels Aphelios’ silent tears, so hot compared to rest of the shivering Lunari, streaking down where they fall onto Sett’s skin.

* * *

The next day, Aphelios is not able to hold it together when the doctor arrives for her check-up.

She inspects the sutures and examines him for signs of infection, assuring Sett she sees nothing concerning despite his descriptions of Aphelios’ prolific sweating and frightening chills. She’s just finished rebandaging the wound, standing up to organize her medical supplies bag and depart, when Aphelios catches a fistful of her robes in his good hand.

“Will it be okay?” he croaks, and Sett has to suppress the urge to kindly scold him for using his voice. He doesn’t need to, because with an air of defeat, Aphelios gives up and one-handedly signs his full question for Sett to translate when the doctor asks what he’s referring to, specifically.

“…He’s askin’ if he’ll be able to use his left arm again, like normal,” Sett relays, even as his throat tightens and he has to swallow hard to clear some of the emotion that rises.

Worse still, the doctor is not able to provide the perfect reassurance Sett wishes Aphelios could hear right now.

“Well… probably. You’ll definitely get back mobility, but your trapezius was almost completely severed and so… you’ll find that your range of motion is reduced, you might even have a loss of some feeling. I’m sorry. It’s hard to say right now, and you might be just fine. But I won’t lie to you that there’s a substantial chance of permanent damage.”

There’s a long moment of silence, a heavy pause between the three of them especially as Aphelios digests this news, before it’s broken by a huge sigh from the Lunari. Sett is just thinking to himself how hard it is to see his lover try to keep a brave face, answering this awful information with just a sigh, when it’s followed by another one, and this time the breath hitches and flows immediately into another breath, a quickening, pained sob.

With discretion, the doctor makes her exit quickly, giving Sett a look of sympathy as he gently closes the door behind her to go sit on the bed and hold his weeping partner in his arms again.

It doesn’t need to be said out loud, what kind of devastation this is for a man whose identity is almost entirely derived from the ability and the duty to protect his people with his physical strength.

And how Aphelios, already asked to sacrifice the use of his voice, has just been told that one of the remaining tools of his self-expression, his advocacy for himself, might be forever compromised, too. Sett had already tried to comfort him that the tingling and numbness that lingered in his left hand even as the rest of him regained feeling from the noctum was probably wholly normal, considering he was still in the early stages of recovery.

All Aphelios had replied was that he truly hoped so, because he didn’t want to have to contemplate how hard it would be to sign if his left hand never got better.

* * *

Aphelios’ nightmares become less consuming, but they do not relent.

At some point during their second night back together, Sett doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep himself, when he’s wrenched back into consciousness by Aphelios jolting violently against him. The Vastayan opens his eyes just a moment before Aphelios does, and he watches the rapid-fire succession of expressions that transform his lover’s face: terror, then confusion, then searching, then finally, when he his gaze finds Sett’s face, relief.

Extricating his good hand from underneath one of Sett’s meaty arms, he signs an urgent question.

_Diana really came back with me, right?_

Sett assures him that she had, and when Aphelios wakes an hour later and asks whether Kolli is safe, Sett assures him that she is. It’s like the Lunari still has one foot back on the Shadow Isles, he’s still half reliving the moments of whatever happened there. Sett silently commits, as he watches his lover relax and settle back heavily into his arms, that he will stay with Phel until the other is firmly rooted back in the here and now. He intertwines his fingers with those of Aphelios’ right hand, holding tightly, hoping the sensation is like a lifeline that will tether the traumatized man to reality. Though he knows there really isn’t much he can do to protect his love in this realm of dreams, other than be there to confirm his safety when he resurfaces.

* * *

Often, when Aphelios is able to settle back into sleep quickly (unlike the times he needs hours to detoxify from the poisonous fear of his nightmares), Sett does cry for him, his quiet tears rolling unwiped into the pillow. He’s careful to strive for stoicism whenever Aphelios can see or hear him, but… sometimes he just feels so sad and so sorry for how Aphelios suffers that he can’t help but grieve.

* * *

Mid-morning on the third day, Sett is awoken by a knock on the door, and he’s already pissed with whoever it is because Aphelios has finally been peacefully sleeping for a few hours and both the knocking and Sett trying to unravel himself from around his lover both threaten to wake him.

He’s ready to berate whoever it is at the door, especially because he assumes it’s Kirin or the doctor come too early, but he’s not at all prepared for who their visitor actually is.

“I came to see when we will depart for Targon,” Diana explains without preamble, without greeting, and, in Sett’s opinion, without nearly enough circumspection or deference. “We must make haste and leave as soon as possible.”

“Hi to you too, lady,” Sett growls. “And _the fuck_ you will.” Then, even though he doesn’t want Aphelios to leave his sight, especially because he doesn’t want to chance the other to waking up and thinking for even an instant that he’s alone, Sett wants Aphelios to overhear this even less and so he steps outside their cabin door in all his shirtless, sleep-mussed, eight foot glory, and gets into Diana’s face.

“You think you get to call the fuckin’ shots about how you urgently need to leave for Targon all of a sudden? After you led that man on a wild goddamn goose chase for the past four years? Where was your sense of emergency then? Or are you just not content that he almost died draggin’ your dumb ass from the Shadow Isles, now you gotta run him ragged on a trek to the mountains when he can barely sleep or eat? Didja know that his arm might be permanently fucked? Do you Aspects even get off your high horses long enough to give a shit about stuff like that? Hm?”

In the back of his mind, Sett worries that he’s just let his temper get the best of him again, that he’ll just make things harder for Aphelios if he pisses Diana off or spooks her into running once more. But, to his surprise and extreme irritation, the strange woman looks at him knowingly, almost as if she’d expected this exact reaction. He’s so mad that he does miss the subtle darkness of regret that clouds her eyes too, mad especially because she dares to ask what she does.

“And you are?”

His brief impulse towards caution totally evaporates, burnt up with his temper again at how smug this fucking Aspect seems, as if she’s earned the right to ask anything of anybody.

“I’m his fiancé,” Sett hurls back, not bothering to think through the potential consequences this could have if Diana decides to divulge it to the Lunari elders. “I’m Sett. You may have heard of me if you spent any time in Ionia at all, but if not, I’m happy to tell ya what exactly it is I have a reputation for.”

“Ah, Sett,” she repeats, again with a tone as if this was totally unsurprising, and ignoring how the giant Vastayan is menacingly cracking his knuckles. “Was it not you who sent those spies after me?”

“Huh?” Mislabeling them as ‘spies’ throws Sett off for a moment, but he quickly figures out what Diana is referring to. “You mean the legitimate investigators I sent after your ass when you decided to spend years ghosting around Runeterra? You mean the ones I sent specifically to try and help Phel so that he could quit wreckin’ his health and puttin’ himself at risk tryin’ to track you down? Yeah, that was me.”

What might bug the Vastayan the most about Diana is how she carries herself and speaks as if she knows everything already, and is only participating in dialogue as some kind of entertainment or a way to mess with whoever she’s talking to.

“That means you’ve known this whole fuckin’ time,” Sett continues, thinking through the implications. “You knew he was lookin’ for ya, and I’m assumin’ you also very well knew why, and you still chose to fuckin’ jerk him around.”

Then, the worst implication of all settles in, and Sett is so immediately furious that his fur stands on end and his eyes gleam with barely suppressed magic, though Diana takes in the spectacle with her opaque white gaze as if it, too, is according to her private plan.

“You went to the Shadow Isles, knowin’ he would follow you there. You actually fuckin’ did that. That place probably isn’t as bad for the likes of you, but, for him… you almost got him killed.”

Diana is just about to open her mouth to reply when, emanating weakly but desperately from the ship cabin through the door he left askew, Sett hears his name called with a ragged voice so rarely used.

“Right here Phel, just one sec,” he calls back, irritated beyond all measure that Aphelios has woken up alone after all. Then, hissed back to Diana, “you better make yourself real fuckin’ comfortable here, because you ain’t goin’ anywhere until he’s in better condition than before he had to go through hell and back for you, you selfish fuckin’—”

“Sett!” Aphelios calls again, and now the Vastayan understands that he’s messed up, that Aphelios has probably overheard most, if not all of his lover raking the prophesied saviour of his religion over the figurative coals.

“Till later, then,” Diana says, unperturbed by the death glare Sett replies with, though he ensures that every ounce of his rageful venom is infused into his cat-like stare.

When Sett’s back with his lover on the bed, Aphelios confirms that he couldn’t help but eavesdrop on nearly everything—he’s always been a light sleeper and even depleted and injured like this, that has not changed—and so Sett begins apologizing automatically, not expecting it when Aphelios stops him and tells him it’s alright, but he does need help because he wants to change his clothes, go to the bathroom and have something to eat.

It’s when he’s back in bed, obediently resting after freshening up and thankful that Sett changed the musty sheets with clean ones he found in some drawers, eating small mouthfuls of the crackers taken from Kirin’s boxed food from the night before, that he, somewhat indirectly, addresses what he’d heard Sett tell Diana.

 _She saved me,_ he explains, _Diana, and Kolli too. What you said wasn’t wrong, but Diana is also responsible for getting me back safely. Don’t be too mad at her._

Sett tries to protest, but he’s also surprised at the information and asks Aphelios to elaborate on what he’s willing to; the beast-man is especially shocked to hear that the little kraken girl he’d so thoroughly dismissed as a useless waif had arguably the biggest role, and at the greatest personal risk, in saving Aphelios. Sett can’t help but appreciate someone willing to break strict rules and dash directly into the face of danger, much less use the source of her protection as a projectile.

But soon Aphelios is exhausted again and looking a little too pale for Sett’s comfort, and so after another well-timed visit from the doctor to check and redress the wound, the Lunari cocoons himself amidst the blankets, settling in for what will be a marathon sleep.

Still selfless and considerate, even in his state, Aphelios tells his fiancé, even as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, that he’s feeling better now, that Sett doesn’t have to stay the whole time and should go get some hot food and fresh air himself. He falls asleep too fast and too soundly to see that Sett disregards these tender instructions and stays by his side, stroking his hair or dozing himself, never leaving the entire time.

* * *

The days pass like this in a semblance of normalcy—well, what can be considered normal for an assassin and pit fighter—with Aphelios making up for the years of harsh deprivation and sleeplessness, waking up for about one hour out of every eleven to make sure he’s still taking care of his biological needs, Sett always ready to help him stay hydrated and fed, clean and cared for. Solid foods still don’t sit well with the Lunari, and when they find that he has the most success (and pleasure) eating puddings, Sett tasks Kirin with finding every place on Buhru that sells pudding, custard, flan, crème caramel and/or mousse, ensuring a ready and excessive supply are at Aphelios’ disposal. Normally, Aphelios would protest at Sett going so overboard, but he seems to understand how much relief it gives the beast-man to feel like there’s something concrete he can finally do to help.

Kirin is also pressed into finding a place to clean and repair Aphelios’ ruined clothes, the stained jacket with its awful slice in the left shoulder, the left glove stiff with old blood. While his lieutenant is exasperated to be stuck with running errands as if he’s some low-level thug Sett’s just hired, he also asks, somewhat brusquely and definitely rhetorically, when the last time Sett cleaned himself up, because his fur-trimmed coat, like the rest of him, stinks.

“You think your moon boy will want to wake up and see your unshaven mug leering back at him?” Kirin quips, and though he exaggerates his exasperation, does suggest that perhaps he can ‘keep an eye on the lad’ while Sett goes to a public bathhouse to get cleaned up and look at some different walls other than the four dark, grimy ones of the cabin for a bit.

Reluctantly, Sett accepts, knowing he’s been neglecting himself too much, and he really does need to get out because he’s getting so stir-crazy he’s about to start talking to himself just to have something to do.

Donning his coat for the first time since he’d taken it off the night Aphelios had returned, his fingers close on a little marble-sized object in his pocket, which Sett can’t remember for the life of him what it could be until he pulls it out, and the patchwork memory of that evening fades in.

“Hey, Kirin,” he holds the little treasure out for his assistant to look at. “You ever heard of an aethergem?”

The old man’s expressions are usually muted, but he doesn’t bother to keep the shock off his face, though it dampens significantly when Sett explains that he procured his through what was essentially blind luck.

“First heard about them in Bilgewater, but no doubt they’d be just as highly prized here on Buhru, if not more so. Aethergems are exceedingly rare, and are said to grant their owner safety at sea, but also a long lifetime of remarkable prosperity.” Kirin then proceeds to name several pirates and captains who have earned exceptional renown, though Sett, uninterested in fame aside from his own only vaguely recognizes one of the names. “All of them swear by the blessings of their aethergems. You could sell that bauble and recoup the costs of this entire escapade, easily.”

It’s tempting, but the first stitch of an idea sews itself in Sett’s mind, and he merely slips the gem back in his pocket and thanks Kirin for agreeing to make sure Aphelios is alright while he steps out.

* * *

On the fourth day of Aphelios’ recovery, a surprise delivery of a little bouquet of purple flowers arrives, along with a wax-sealed bottle that looks like it’s been buried for about half a century, and Sett lasts all of five minutes waiting for Aphelios to wake up before he can’t take it anymore and sneaks a look at the card nestled inside the little blooms.

_Dear Mr. Aphelios,_

_I hope your recovery is swift and that the next phase of your journey is filled with many blessings. I hope our paths cross again in the future, because it would be a shame to never be able to flirt with such a handsome, charming, kind man like you. Also, hello big red man, I know you are reading this too._

_Kolli_

_PS the stuff in the bottle is a family recipe for a medicine that heals nearly everything. Please don’t let the awful smell fool you, it is very good for you!_

When he wakes and sees the thoughtful gift, Aphelios smiles, and when he reads the note he breaks into a broad grin. Sett thinks about how, just days ago, he would have lost himself to a shitty, jealous fit to see Phel beaming because of a letter from that girl, but now he just feels overwhelmed with his own second-hand happiness and immense gratitude.

* * *

That evening, and perhaps largely thanks to Aphelios consuming the entirety of Kolli’s rank medicine (it’s indeed lucky that Aphelios has a tolerance for harsh liquids, because the medicine had such a putrid stink of fermented seaweed that Sett thought his nose would never unwrinkle for having smelled it), Aphelios feels well enough that he has the energy for a little lover’s spat with Sett.

 _I’m fine, I can handle it,_ Aphelios pleads, absolutely not above weaponizing his cuteness if the Vastayan doesn’t relent on the issue of letting Aphelios leave the ship for a bath. _I know it’ll help, feeling this unclean isn’t good for me either._

Sett frowns, his brow furrowed and arms crossed. “I dunno mooncake, the doctor was pretty adamant you didn’t go anywhere. Else I woulda moved us to an inn with a big bed and runnin’ water first thing.”

 _That was days ago_ , the Lunari returns back instantly. _I’m alright now and if I have to keep smelling like this and feeling this dirty, I’ll go crazy!_

“Why don’t I just get a fresh cloth and some hot water and I’ll give ya another towel bath—”

Aphelios is so frustrated, he actually groans. If Sett didn’t have so many worries, among which is always Aphelios straining his tortured vocal chords, the childish sound is so adorable Sett would have caved immediately upon hearing it.

_No more towel baths, for the love of Mother Moon!_

Then:

_Please, Sett? It would make me so happy._

…

…Sett caves immediately.

Though Aphelios needs a lot of assistance dressing, both of them donning some spare, plain cotton clothes while their usual outfits are being laundered, and he still needs to lean heavily into Sett’s support to walk the few streets to the public bathhouse, it’s obvious how determined Aphelios is to regain his independence. Unfortunately though, the Lunari’s face is so familiar to him that even though he puts valiant effort into disguising it, the Vastayan can clearly see the strain and exhaustion even this short excursion causes, pretend as Aphelios might that it doesn’t.

It’s late at night when they arrive and so they have much of the bathing facilities to themselves, and it might be thanks to the lack of inquisitive eyes that Aphelios permits his lover to help him bathe a little as well. Though he has use of only one arm, he does a thorough job of washing his own hair and body, and so it might be less for reasons of physical limitations and more how much Sett’s touch comforts him that Aphelios sits quietly in the thermal waters, letting Sett dab feather-light around his injury with a clean cloth.

Sett’s avoided staring at it when the doctor’s come by for her follow-ups and rebandaging, but with Aphelios facing away from him and, also out of the necessity to ensure he doesn’t get too close to the wound itself, Sett gets an eyeful.

Even healing well, it’s so, so deep. Such a cruel cut, inflicted with the primary purpose of causing pain. It reaches further down on the Lunari’s back, the blade having scraped Aphelios’ shoulder blade, the angry red line shorter in the front where the sickle was arrested by his collarbone. It’s disturbing to think of how, if Thresh wielded a different kind of a weapon, a heavier one, it would have been so easy for Aphelios to lose the limb entirely. Or the consequences if the laceration had been delivered to the right side, impairing the assassin’s use of his dominant hand. It would have been ruinous.

It also reminds the Vastayan of one of the most cherished moments they’ve ever shared, one so early in their romantic relationship; the first night they ever made love. He remembers washing the blood from Aphelios’ shoulder after biting him, how the Lunari had then explained how significant and meaningful it was for him to finally choose a way in which his body was marked. Even now he can see for himself the several small white marks, long-healed, left by his teeth in the flesh of Aphelios’ right shoulder at the base of his neck, still one of the most intimate things Sett’s ever done with another human being.

But now Aphelios’ left shoulder will bear the gruesome, life-long scar of this wound, another mark whose infliction he’d had no ability to choose or decline.

Sett barely holds in a sad sigh, only because he knows Aphelios will hear it and try to comfort him, and he doesn’t want that.

Instead, he presses a kiss to the crown of Phel’s head, the place where his little cowlick will inevitably flick up once his hair is dry enough, and he cedes that the bath was a great idea because finally Aphelios is properly clean again and the sickening stench of the Shadow Isles has been completely cleansed.

Predictably Sett gets carried away and when he stoops a little to inhale the cherished, unblemished scent of his lover’s skin, Aphelios turns around to berate him for being a weirdo and sniffing him in public, though he smiles affectionately as he signs his admonition.

Later though, when they are back in their room amidst bedclothes that have been freshly changed again, Aphelios generously permits his lover to drink his fill. Sett is cuddled around him, his head resting gently against the right side of Phel’s chest, red ears greedily enjoying the tender caresses of Aphelios’ good hand as the Vastayan absorbs all of Aphelios’ fragrance that he can.

It’s the first time in what feels like an eternity that either of them can say, in that moment, that they are happy.

* * *

And then, just like that, it’s as if all of a sudden, Aphelios is better.

Well, no. That’s not really true; it’s just that Aphelios has met a milestone of recovery where the physical and mental strains are navigable… he can choose, to a degree, the moments when he lets it become debilitating, but the debilitation is still unavoidable. Sett wonders how Phel cope alone with the nightmares that have not eased.

And Sett will still catch Aphelios in moments where the other doesn’t realize he’s being observed, where the convincing front of wellness the Lunari has erected will crumble, and Aphelios sags with a paradoxical but distinct attitude of defeat, staring at his hands in his lap as if he hates them, as if they weren’t good enough when he needed them most.

Sett’s not sure why, when Aphelios is alone with himself like that, that the Lunari behaves as if he’s a failure. Not when Diana has been found and is waiting for their departure to Targon, so she can finally swing the celestial balance and empower the persecuted Lunari people.

Sett wonders who will be there for Aphelios, though his body might heal and scar, when the mental wounds fester. Alune will try, but she can only connect with her brother when his heart is suppressed. Sett wonders how Aphelios can ever truly get better when he’s only permitted to exist within the narrow role of the Weapon of the Faithful.

But, it’s got to be enough, this is as ‘better’ as Aphelios needs to be right now, and as he explains to a deflated beast-man, his lovely violet eyes clear of much of the dusk of pain or terror, it also means it’s time for Aphelios to leave.

They do fight when Sett tries to stubbornly insist that Aphelios should stay at least until his stitches can come out and his arm doesn’t need to be guarded in a sling, and what he doesn’t say is that there’s also no harm in giving Aphelios a few more days for his delicate emotional stability to solidify a little more. But the argument is pointless. Aphelios won’t defer his duty for a reason like his personal healing, and his partner knows in his heart that the Lunari will never be persuaded, argued, or even manipulated to go against this fundamental aspect of his personality.

And so, the lovers have less than a day to come to terms with what this means, after Diana suggests they depart at sundown that evening and as a matter of course Aphelios agrees. It’s a day that’s also filled with a whirlwind of preparations; packing provisions for the journey and procuring enough medicine for the remainder of Aphelios’ recovery. There’s hardly time for it to sink in that this is goodbye for a long, long while.

But, having nothing better to do during the days he spent watching over his sleeping fiancé, Sett has put considerable and rare forethought into how to make coping with such a long separation easier; he’ll hire a courier whose job it will be to make the journey to and from Ionia and Targon, so they can keep in touch via letters. He’s even thought about how to deal with the fact that it’s not exactly as if his assassin lover from a super secret sect in purposeful hiding will have a fixed address; talking through it with Aphelios, they agree on a well-known traveler’s canteen at the base of the mountain that nearly everyone going through the area will visit—so, a well-known landmark—but whose location isn’t unreasonable for Aphelios to get to once every month. Sett even ‘lends’ Aphelios the money to pay the canteen owners to hold mail for him. Every detail is thought out.

Finally ready, the two begin their goodbye as Sett helps Aphelios dress for the last time, now in his cleaned and repaired clothes, though they take their time with the rudimentary task. Sett bestows dozens of little kisses anywhere Aphelios’ torso is uncovered by bandages, as if his lips have protection magic and he can imbue the force of his love into the Lunari’s skin. When Sett fastens his old golden collar around Aphelios’ neck it’s bittersweet; it speaks eloquently of the pain of another goodbye, now softened and blurred by the intervening year that’s also been filled with so much sweetness and many moments shared. Though, when Sett finishes belting the gray coat for him over Phel’s left arm that’s restrained in a sling, both have to confront how impossibly hard it’s going to be.

Because it’s always been hard, being apart. And that was when there was the optimism that it would never be more than a couple months, at the absolute most. Now, they are newly engaged, but are realistically looking at what might even be multiple years away from each other.

 _You know I will try my hardest to visit sooner than that,_ Aphelios attempts to comfort Sett, but as they had talked through previously, they are beholden to a schedule far outside of their control; Aphelios will not be permitted to leave Targon until such time as Diana is able to fulfill her role in the prophecy, whenever that might happen. And though Sett would obviously be happy to make the trip south himself, they both know such an impetuous action would have disastrous effects if the Lunari found out.

And so, they are forced to subsist on talking about all the wonderful things they’ll have to do together to make up for lost time when they are able to finally reunite, but then… even this topic quickly becomes too painful and fades into mutual silence.

Sett feels like his heart is leaden as he drags his heels, following Aphelios to the docks to where he’ll be meeting Diana, having chartered another boat that will take the two of them through the Piltover-Zaun strait and deposit them on the northern coast of Shurima, whereas Sett and Kirin will finally begin their return journey to Ionia.

It’s so hard—heartbreakingly hard—to have to say goodbye again so soon, but at least this time Sett doesn’t have to juggle the unbearable dread of feeling like he’s sending Aphelios off to his death.

No, he thinks with a swell of pride, he’s sending home a hero who’s bringing back the salvation of an entire tribe that’s been suffering in secret for generations.

“I’m so proud of ya bunny,” Sett tells his lover for the thousandth time, though this time it’s in front of Diana and Kirin, neither of whom are doing the most they could be to not make the heartfelt goodbye awkward for having an audience. “You’ll have to tell me all about what the reaction’s like in Targon.”

Sett knows Aphelios’ modesty will strip the details down to their bare bones, but boy would Sett ever love to be a fly on the proverbial wall, so he can see for himself how the crusty zealot Lunari elders react when they see that their tortured gofer boy has actually been the one to help save them all.

Aphelios nods and, to Sett’s surprise, raises on his tiptoes to kiss Sett, despite their onlookers. Of course the Vastayan returns the chaste kiss tenfold, only breaking the contact so he can pull Phel into an embrace and murmur for his ears only:

“I hope it ain’t that long, but you know I’ll wait for ya for as long as it takes. I’m yours forever, Phel.”

Aphelios rewards his tenderness with a gorgeous, loving smile, even reaching up to caress one of Sett's wilted ears, before imitating how Sett always has to (playfully) one-up his romantic declarations.

_I’ll be yours beyond forever, Sett._

Then, in a gesture meant for Sett’s comprehension alone, he points with his good hand, at first to what Sett thinks with confusion is something on his coat he wants him to look at, perhaps a spot the cleaners missed… before realizing that Aphelios is pointing to the ring finger of his left hand, bound against his body in the sling.

In the rosy light of the sunset, the Vastayan’s eyes begin to glisten with moisture.

One day.

One day, they’ll be free to get their fill of each other’s love, and never have endure these terrible, uncertain farewells again.

* * *

The tropical sun is brilliant—it’s a gorgeous day—and Kolli’s long ago stripped down to her undershirt to let the rays warm her beautiful brown skin (though truth be told, she also enjoys showing off her muscles and does not shy from any opportunity to do so). She’s singing a little tune to herself, sitting in her beached dinghy, doing her seasonal repairs and maintenance… it’s her idea of paradise.

Though of course, being in her boat like this, the last time it was used being a week ago when she had sailed an enchanting foreigner to the Shadow Isles, she can’t help but reminisce.

She had heard secondd-hand from some friends who worked the docks that Aphelios and Diana were seen leaving on a vessel headed westward the night before, and sure enough, she’d made a detour to where she knew their rented ship had been moored in port to find it gone.

She isn’t bitter that she hadn’t heard back, she hadn’t given her gift with any ulterior motive other than to help her new friend get better as soon as he could. She understands why there hadn’t been a chance to say proper goodbyes or catch up with each other one last time before he had to leave Buhru. Still, it felt strange, a little melancholic, to not be able to get closure… after all, she couldn’t say there were many people whom she’d helped out of a cursed wasteland, snatching them right from under Thresh’s nose (not that he had one, ugly monster). Though… that had been the fun part.

She’ll never forget what it was like to carry Aphelios’ weight… his dead weight. Not knowing if suddenly, his heaviness would become that of a corpse. What it was like to see his mangled shoulder, and how hard she’d prayed as she treated it with what she felt were her wholly inadequate medical skills. What it was like to come home and have to wash his blood from her tunic.

But it’s enough, because she knows that he’s survived and is healthy enough to continue his journey, and she even giggles to herself as considers what the future wedding between him and his big red man would even look like.

Her attention is pulled by someone calling her name, and she looks up to see one of her buddies from the Temple rushing over.

“Kolli, you gotta come see this! Come to the Temple right away!”

More frustrating than being interrupted on her day off is the fact that her friend refuses to give her any further information, but this soon transmutes into excited anticipation; Kolli never lingers in a sour mood for long.

But there is no way she can be prepared for the incredible surprise that greets her when she arrives at the Temple of Nagakabouros.

The entire main atrium is absolutely filled with people, all laughing and socializing and bustling around impromptu tables that have been set up; tables piled with inordinate amounts of food. She has no idea what’s happening, there’s never been a feast like this and certainly not on a day with no significance to their faith, but she’s immediately game because who doesn’t love eating free food; but soon some partiers catch sight of her and… cheer?

“This is all in your honour,” the friend spews out, ecstatic that she can finally reveal the surprise.

It still doesn’t compute, because while she had been given a modest honorarium by the elders as a courtesy for completing the mission, Kolli's also been specifically told it was confidential, so there’s no way the Temple would throw a massive party like this for her, especially when aiding foreigners wasn’t something the priests wanted to flaunt.

“It was dropped off just an hour ago,” her friend continues. “I tried to find you as fast as I could, but there’s still plenty here for you. Girl, we're gonna be eating like queens for a week! Look! It’s your favourite, barbequed manta! But there’s also marinated sea slug, cheese fondue, fruit wine, olive bread—listen, just go get a plate for yourself already!”

Kolli doesn’t need to be told twice, though she ends up balancing two full plates due to her inability to pick between all the options. It’s with her mouth stuffed full of curried calamari that the head priest finds her, and draws her attention to a gorgeous vase filled with birds of paradise and orchids, sitting regally in a corner away from the crowds.

“You did well, young one,” he tells her, and she just knows he's referring to her rule-breaking, though she's long given up trying to figure out how the priest knows what he does. “This revelry is a gift for you, from your friends. This… this is not usually our way, but there is no reason to decline such good food. Know that you have brought joy and pride to your brethren. Now. I believe there is something within those flowers that is for your enjoyment, and yours alone.”

Mournfully, Kolli deposits her laden plates on a nearby table with an expression full of longing and a promise she’ll retrieve them immediately, but her curiosity is insatiable. Between the blooms as hinted by her elder, she finds a thick envelope, attached to a little velvet pouch.

The stationary is beautiful, perfectly suited for the symmetrical, elegant handwriting of Aphelios, whose note is short but sincere, apologizing for missing her when he’d visited the temple earlier to try and say goodbye in person, and thanking her for her bravery, for his life, for her role in saving his people, and not least of all, for the sweet flowers and the medicine which definitely tasted disgusting but made him feel positively rejuvenated. It’s signed ‘with gratitude, Mr. Aphelios,’ which causes Kolli to blush, smile, and sigh mistily, all at the same time.

But the fancy stationary is hilariously mismatched for the second letter, looking like an angry child wrote it. In spite of its appearance, its contents warm Kolli’s soul and soon make her nose itch with happy tears.

_Dear Kolli,_

_It’s me, Sett. I hate writin notes like this but this was one I really owed ya. Phel told me about what you did for him, sounds like you’ve got one hell of a pitch. I’ve got a lotta respect for anyone ~~who says fuck the rules~~ _(this is scribbled out, presumably in an attempt at propriety) _who is cool with breakin rules. I can’t ever repay ya for savin Phel and riskin your own life. N that’s after I was a real asshole to ya and everything. Woulda been cool to get to know ya cause I think we mighta been great buddies, after all we both have real good taste in men._

_I hope you like the banquet, Phel told me that you guys talked a lot about food to pass the time on your way there, so I hope these are some of the right dishes._

_Also, I’m a man of my word and even though I also threatened ya I did promise that if you kept Phel safe that you’d have anything you ever wanted. I set up an account at the Coatl Bank_ (this name is mis-spelled and crossed out several times, but luckily Kolli knows just the one) _and it’s yours. Just show them what’s in the little pouch and they’ll know it’s you. I guess what they say about ~~ethergems~~ ~~aeathergems~~ ~~eeathergems~~ these gem thingees bringin riches is true._

_You take care of yourself and stay healthy, and try not to hit on too many people’s future husbands, alright?_

_Yours truly,_

_Settrigh_

* * *


End file.
